


The Fractured Throne

by Sol1056



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Magic, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Mecha, Minor Allura/Lotor (Voltron), Multi, Politics, Rated For Violence, Team as Family, War, epic as in length
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 151,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13876410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sol1056/pseuds/Sol1056
Summary: The five sacred lions are the ancestral defense of Altea, and commanded by whomever possesses Altea's royal regalia. When the Queen is assassinated and the sacred throne is damaged, the crown princess discovers it'll take two years for the coronation stone to be recarved and resanctified. With Altea's enemies gathering their armies, Allura doesn't have the time. There's one other option: if she can call up the lions, that will prove she's Altea's rightful leader. According to tradition, the lions will choose their paladins from the land's greatest warriors -- but to Allura's dismay, the mystical creatures instead choose a slave, a spy, a traitor, an outcast, and a thief.If these are Altea's sacred defenders, Altea may be in trouble.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this story skips the rift entity aspect, scales down to planetary instead of galactic warfare, because otherwise we'll be stuck here for 400K before the story's done. Also: there are slave-owning cultures in this story, but the story will be squarely on the side of this is BAD. Some influences from SFF anime, with only minimal effort to file off any serial numbers, so any resemblance may be intentional.

Shiro studied his new hand, flexing it gently. For over a moon he'd struggled with the stump where his hand, wrist, and half his forearm had been. Too many nights he'd come awake, agonized with pain for a limb no longer there. He moved his arm to lay across the sheet covering his lap, marveling at the prosthetic's metalwork, the hairline cracks where the seams met.

The metal went higher than the original wound, up past his elbow, to reddened skin where metal met flesh. He straightened his fingers, then made a fist. The sensation was sharp at the edges, but undeniably under his control.

He raised his arm, turning it, feeling along the joints with his other hand. A beam of late winter sunlight caught his movement, and Shiro squinted, then smiled. The metal wasn't simply burnished; it was etched with miniscule tracings, now glowing gold in the afternoon sunlight.

The curtain over the door rippled, a sign of someone's passage outside the austere room. Shiro lowered his hand and took a deep breath. The arm was painful, but nothing worse than he'd handled in a year of imprisonment. Nothing eclipsed the daily burn of recalling his defeat.

"Shiro," a woman said, as she pushed the curtain out of the way. "I expected you to sleep longer. Are you hungry? You'll need to eat light, but we won't let you starve."

She wore the dull green cap of the Olkari, a few shades darker than the yellow-green of her skin, and a one-shouldered gray mantle over her white tunic. An Olkari elder, then. Shiro gave her a polite smile, relieved when the second person to enter was the Marmora agent who'd arranged the prisoner exchange between Daibazaal and Altea. Thace held back the curtain for two Olkari carrying boxes, and a third with a tray of food.

"I'm not that hungry," Shiro said, as his stomach rumbled. He gave the elder a rueful grin. "Or maybe I am."

"Here," one Olkari said, and laid the tray across his lap. It held a steaming bowl of broth, and nothing else. "That should be bland enough for you."

"Thank you," Shiro said, automatically. "Could I… get a shirt too, please?" While he'd never thought of himself as modest, all four Olkari seemed to be eyeing him a bit too closely.

"I have your shirt." Thace held it up, rolling the billowing cotton up in his hands and helping Shiro put it on, much as a father would for his child. It was an odd contrast with Thace's martial appearance and reticent presence.

The Marmora agent towered over the Olkari, his dull black armor almost a shadow behind the Olkari and their love of white, orange, and shades of green. Between the high cheekbones, the gray-purple skin, and the dramatic streaks of white in his ear-tufts, Thace was undoubtedly more elegant than many of Thace's kind, but then, prison guards were likely a coarser lot.

Shiro pulled the shirt down around his chest, careful not to spill the broth. He took sips of the vegetable-based liquid while one of the Olkari pushed up Shiro's sleeve. The elder Olkari prodded the tender flesh, and raised Shiro's arm higher to study the underside. She pronounced the results acceptable, and opened one of the boxes.

"This is the sleeve." She held up the hinged cylinder, and snapped it into place around Shiro's upper arm. It was a tight fit, and the elder patted his arm.

Shiro startled at the sudden prick of tiny needles, as if the sleeve had latched onto his arm. "What was that?"

"Medicine. This sleeve is temporary. Make sure he wears it until the next moon," she told Thace. "It will help the healing along."

"My arm's tingling," Shiro said. He dutifully flexed his fingers for her, then gripped her hand as hard as he could. "It's not quite numb, but it feels heavier."

"That's the medicine. It'll feel that way for about an hour, every day at this time. If you're still feeling that a moon from now, keep the sleeve on a few days' more." She gestured at the second box. "We'll be sending you along with the eventual replacement. Which will not," she added with a dry smile, "be quite so uncomfortable."

By the time Shiro was halfway through the broth, the elder had proclaimed him ready to travel. She and her assistants departed silently. Thace picked up a chair from the far wall and carried it over to sit at Shiro's bedside.

"This was out of our way," Shiro noted. "I appreciate it. I didn't realize the Marmora also had ties to the Olkari."

Thace gave a slight rolling motion his kind used to indicate dismissal. "Only tangentially, but we had good reason to come."

"Yes, but…" Shiro set down the empty bowl, and Thace removed the tray. Shiro swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I presume we need to be back on the road, now."

"I didn't plan to leave until dark." Thace glanced past Shiro, to the single window looking out over the green forest. "We have another hour. You'll need it, for the last of the sedatives to wear off."

The Olkari people were tree-house dwellers, living in the forests to the south of Altea. The sun wasn't quite set; by this time of day, it'd be near-dark in the thick forests that bearded the mountains. Shiro flexed his toes against the polished wooden boards.

"I can hardly afford to question a gift," Shiro admitted. "But even so, this gift seems far too precious. I have no way to repay the Olkari, or you."

"This was a repayment already, to you." Thace's smile revealed the tips of his fangs, a reminder of his lizard-cat heritage. Goblins, everyone else called them. Galra, they called themselves.

Shiro blinked as he realized the meaning. "To me? I don't understand."

"My tyro requested we restore your arm," Thace said. "He was the reason you lost it, after all."

"Your—you have an apprentice? Is that…" He struggled to remember the name of his other escort. "Ulaz?"

To his surprise, Thace laughed, a full-throated sound of genuine amusement. "Ulaz is my colleague. Don't let him hear you mistook him for an apprentice."

Shiro grinned with half his attention, focused on recalling what he could. He recognized Thace's voice from when Shiro had been carried from his cell; everything else was a blur. A moon ago, he'd woken to find someone else thrown into his cell. A voice, not enough light to see a face, but young enough. When a chance had come, Shiro had distracted the guards while his cellmate fled. Shiro had lost his hand for the effort, and several days from the beating. When he'd come to, the guards had tormented him with news that his efforts had achieved nothing.

He was pleased to realize the guards had lied.

Their medical attention had been brusque and minimal. Fearing infection, Shiro had nearly starved himself after, using his own clothes to staunch the bleeding. He'd had a swallow of water daily, the rest used to rinse the wound. By the time the guards had come, saying he was to be exchanged for a Galra officer of equal rank, Shiro had been nearly delirious from fever.

"The Olkari are as skilled as the legends say," Shiro said, amazed. "I didn't expect recovery to be so fast."

"Fast?" Thace's ears pricked up, a subtle amusement. "We've been here a half-moon. The infection was too severe to risk operating immediately. In the end…" He nodded at Shiro's prosthetic. "They saved as much as they could."

"Oh." Shiro flexed his fist again, wincing as the tiny needles bit into his flesh with the movement. He wondered how many tubs of water they'd gone through to get off a year of grime, and reveal his own golden skin beneath the black of the Daibazaal prisons. He yawned, stretched, and scratched at his head. "Is there any chance you know how to cut hair?"

It turned out Ulaz had the skill, and the tools; technically they were Ulaz' surgeon's kit. Ulaz had the same lanky Galra build as Thace, though Ulaz was bald, revealing lizard-cat head-ridges and long pointed ears. He spoke with a measured, deliberate tone, his fingers soothing on Shiro's scalp as Ulaz carefully trimmed Shiro's hair back to something resembling the short cut Shiro had always preferred.

"I have shaving instruments, too," Thace said. "Are you capable, with your left hand?"

"I prefer using my right." Shiro wiggled his fingers, testing. "I suppose I should learn to use my left, though. I'm not sure how good this will be for precise movements."

"It should be fine once you've adjusted." Ulaz patted Shiro on the shoulder. "Turn around, tilt your chin back. I'll handle the sharp edges until you've recovered more."

By sunset, Shiro felt like himself—mostly—as he hadn't in too long. Dressed, booted, and bundled in a thick Galra-sized cloak that nearly swamped him, he thanked the Olkari come to see them off.

Three horses waited, Puigian behemoths with sharp fangs, pointed ears, and the characteristic thick fur around their cloven hooves. Thace hoisted Shiro up while Ulaz held the behemoth's head. The saddle's high back reached almost to Shiro's ribcage, another reminder he was nearly two heads shorter than the rangy Marmora agents.

Thace and Ulaz mounted as the Olkari dispersed up their ladders into their treehouses. Thace blew across his palm. Bubbles of golden light rose, darting ahead to fall into the grass, lighting the behemoths' way. The forest smelled of thick loam, moss, and rain-soaked wood. Shiro pulled the cloak across his chin, inhaling the comforting scent of raw wool. 

"Is there a reason we're traveling at night?" Too late, Shiro wondered if silence were required. As if the jangle of the behemoths' reins—or the tremendous thud of their steps—couldn't be heard and felt for miles, in the somnolent forest night.

"Most of the predators in this forest are diurnal," Ulaz said. "We find it easier to avoid them than to pick a fight. The night predators are small enough they'd rather hide from our steeds than risk getting a bite taken out of them."

"Ah." Shiro let the reins drape across the arch of the massive creature's neck. It was a slow, ponderous animal, but reputed to be able to travel for days at a lope without needing rest. Shiro had grown up among warhorses that rivaled the behemoths for height, but truth was, he preferred warhorses that weren't also carnivorous.

"May I ask why you're reluctant to return too quickly?" Ulaz's dry voice came from behind him. "Your Queen was glad to make the exchange, once we confirmed Daibazaal was willing."

"Reluctant?" Shiro craned his neck to look back at Ulaz' dark shape. "What do you mean?"

"You talk when you're delirious," Ulaz said. "You didn't want to return to Altea. I've never been before, but I've heard it's a beautiful land."

"It is, but it's never been mine." Shiro pulled the cloak closer, tucking it in around him against the growing chill. "I've been fighting all my life. But with my hand gone, that would be over."

He'd have no worth, no value, nothing to barter with. His hope of a final deployment, a victorious return, and a request to enter the temple: all dashed in one impulsive action.

"You have a new hand," Ulaz pointed out.

"I do," Shiro said, pushing his metal hand out from under the cloak, amazed he could feel cool air brushing the delicately etched surface. He drew the hand back under the cloak, arranging the folds to keep out the damp cold.

He could fight again, if he had to. What little he could recall of his imprisonment, it seemed unlikely he'd be worthy of bearing the Queen's standard again, or any honors that came with it. Worse still, if the scattered memories dancing at the edge of his mind were any indication, even his long-awaited respite in the temple was now beyond his reach. Not after what he'd done and seen.

At their current speed, and with no further lengthy stopovers, it'd be a moon before they'd reach the mountains of Altea. It was a beautiful land, there was no denying that. It was also the land that had bought him, enslaved him, and trained him for war.

Shiro adjusted the cloak for better padding between his spine and the saddle-bucket, and settled in for a long night's ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> this is the only way to keep track of what is where, in case you were curious. (I know a lot of shortcuts for making these things, if you're wondering.)  
> [see full image](https://ibb.co/hGQA7n)


	2. Chapter 2

Allura quickened her pace, leaving the attendants behind. At the corner she turned fast enough to make her skirts swing out. She took two steps and spun back again to slide sideways behind the thick curtains blocking out the winter sun. She held her breath, pleased when the attendants' footsteps echoed down the circular stairwell. The steps were narrow and steep, and the four attendants would naturally slow down, watching their feet.

She had possibly a half-hour before they realized their mistake. She pushed through the woolen curtains, took two steps and ran right into her family's secretary.

"Princess, there you are." Coran whisked her along, as he ticked off her schedule on his immaculately-gloved fingers. "Wouldn't want to be late for your fitting for your coronation gown! After that, a gathering in the Pavilion of Glorious Clouds, one of the loveliest rooms in the castle, for formal introductions to the ambassadors-in-residence—"

"Most of whom I've known for years," Allura muttered.

"As your mother's daughter, not as a Queen-to-be," Coran said, not even pausing. "After that, a meeting on the newest economic treaties, with the upper-rank ministers."

"You left off the part where I—" She thumped her chest with a fist. "Coran, sometimes people have survived under rockfall for days, right?"

"As of an hour ago, it's been three days, princess." Coran's formal expression slipped. Worry-lines were carved deep, the luminescent half-moons on his ruddy cheeks almost gray with exhaustion. "They're still digging, but you must prepare yourself for the worst."

At the far end of the corridor, someone had thrown the shutters wide, letting in the winter breeze. Allura halted before the view, settling her hands on the rock that formed the window sill, polished smooth over centuries. The entire castle was carved from the same rock, a warren of rooms and balconies in a mountain peak.

Below lay the city of Oriande, clinging to the mountain's skirts, silvery roofs glinting in the midday sun. Steep stairs and switchbacks carved alleys between tall buildings, linked overhead by stone walkways and upper floors that overhung enough to cloak the streets in permanent shadow. Oriande was a city of rock and cloud, floating above a sea of Altea's thick forests. In every direction lay a mountain range, a natural defense few enemies ever dared breech. The tallest peaks remained snow-capped year round, casting shadows large enough to swallow the valley. Allura squinted upwards. The midday sun cast light and no heat.

Her city, her land, her people. Coran cleared his throat, a gentle reminder of the time.

By nightfall, she was exhausted, hungry, and yet had no appetite. Frustration and grief had curdled in her stomach. An additional ache had settled into her muscles. Normally she'd be returning from the training halls, sweaty and pleased with herself after several hours' matching her staff and whip against the royal guards. After three days foregoing that outlet, she could feel the need like a palpable thing.

"Princess," Coran whispered from the door, warning her. The three highest-ranked ministers swept into the drafty room. 

"Ministers," Allura said, and swallowed a final bite of puklo meat along with a surge of grief.

The eldest minister stepped forward, the green half-moons on his cheekbones faded with age. "Princess, we bring news." He cleared his throat, and said simply, "we've found the Queen's body."

Allura dropped her fork. For a moment the room spun, and she forced it back into stillness. "I see," she said, in a voice that sounded too far away.

"The priests are preparing the…" The minister coughed again, with a glance at Coran. "There will be a procession, of course. Nightfall, we'll lay her in state in the catacombs, while the stonemasons complete her tomb."

It should've been at least another ten years. Longer. More than enough time.

"I see," Allura said. "Is that all?" Once the doors were shut and she was alone, she'd cry. Not until then.

"No, princess. The rockfall was caused by an explosion—"

"I'm aware."

"We've identified the source. It was the coronation stone… the explosives were placed around its base." The minister spread his hands. "The stone is cracked. Deeply."

Allura stared at him, then the other two ministers, who averted their gazes. "But that means—"

Behind the ministers, Coran grimaced and gave the slightest shake of his head. No coronation stone, no sacred throne to crown the next Queen.

"How long will it take to repair?" Allura asked.

"It can't be," the minister replied. "It must be replaced. The stonemasons say it'll take at least a moon to find a suitable stone. Another moon for the sanctification… it could be early summer before the stone is even in place. Several moons to carve, and twelve for the purification rituals."

Allura stared at the man, aghast. "A year and a half?"

"More realistically, two years. I'm sorry, but the priests assure us there are no shortcuts. Even if the stonemasons have a suitable stone right now, and carved day and night, it'd still be summer after this one."

"But Daibazaal's been gathering its armies—"

"A minor issue." The second minister, Hira, had the almost-blocky luminescent patches that indicated a distant branch of the royal family. She was minister of war, and unlike her predecessors, a decorated and battle-proven general. "I've already arranged to bolster our forces at the northern pass."

"Vakar and Chandra requested our assistance to defend against raiders," Allura said. "And once the snows melt in the eastern pass, that means trouble for the caravans—"

"Again, taken care of."

"That requires the Queen to grant the people's permission." With the forty ministers controlling the government, the Queen's power was closely circumscribed. What little power remained to the royal family, she would protect. "Two years is too long to be without—"

"The priests are reviewing the historical records." The third minister wore the sturdy jacket of the Alchemical Council, complete with low-slung belt holding multiple pouches. "Several have assured me there are workarounds while we wait for the new coronation stone."

"There's no need for your seal," Hira said. "We'll send chattel to defend Vakar and Chandra. As long as an active general is at the head, the troops will fight as well as our own citizens."

That reminded Allura of her mother's reason for visiting the temple that clung to the sheer northern face of the castle-mountain. "We exchanged a Galran officer for a bond-soldier, I recall. Has there been any further news?"

"A messenger-bird came yesterday," Hira replied. "The go-betweens completed the exchange. They were forced to delay by his injuries. Once he's recovered, they're aware he must be returned."

"Any idea of their expected arrival?"

Hira frowned. "A moon, maybe more." The minister had been against the exchange, but Mother had insisted.

Yet another thing Mother had promised to explain, one day. Queens did not meet with chattel, even those few whose abilities vaulted them into the rarefied status of being bonded to the royal family. How and why Allura's parents had cared for the fate of a simple bond-soldier was yet another mystery, but one Allura intended to solve. Even if it meant Coran's anxious reminders of protocol.

Allura swallowed her irritation. She doubted any of them—or their colleagues—would dare plot her mother's assassination, but they clearly had no compunctions taking advantage. The longer she went uncrowned, the greater the chance the ministers would declare her a purely ceremonial role and strip her of any remaining power.

Hira was Altea's highest general, but Allura wasn't ignorant. The previous spring, Daibazaal had staged armies in its southern neighbor and tributary state, Nalquod. From there, Daibazaal had leveled Folata, then Balmera, before halting its progress at autumn's end. Altea had informal interactions with each, but now Daibazaal massed on the borders of provinces Altea was oathbound to assist.

For that, the ministers would absolutely require the Queen's permission. Without the Queen speaking for the people's will, there would be no levy, and with no levy, there would be no army. For all Hira seemed unconcerned about using chattel forces, those too were a draw on the citizenry. Chattel contracts were easily three-quarters of the populace, and stripping Altea of its chattel would bring much of its economy to a complete halt.

Allura picked up her fork. "I expect you to keep me informed. Dismissed."

She was no longer inclined to cry, too focused on not throwing her goblet across the room. With dinner choked down, she dismissed her attendants, returning to her quarters and dressing herself to spar: a simple jacket, sleek trousers, boots. She had no idea if that was enough preparation. She had only a bare idea of her plan, as Mother had never had the need, and thus Allura had only second-hand stories. But it was a Queen's duty, and not one Coran would know, for all his prodigious knowledge.

Allura strode the corridors alone, glad of the solitude for the first time in days. She'd spent her life in these labyrinthine halls, clattering up and down the narrow, uneven stairs. Guards and servants went about their business, but Allura ignored their lowered heads as she passed. The air grew cooler and damper as she descended into the heart of the mountain that formed the castle's base. Eventually she had to take a lantern from the wall, carrying it with her into the depths usually left to the shadows and a few rats.

When the corridor ended, Allura put her hands to the massive door, relieved when it swung open with a solid push. The first test, passed so easily. She left the lantern outside the door, whispered a prayer for her mother's guidance, and stepped into the central chamber of the mountain's vast cave system.

This was the dark heart of Altea, locked behind a door only its Queens could open. Allura waded through the ankle-deep water, sending out ripples that glowed in streaks of cerulean, honey, rose, celadon, and periwinkle. She stepped onto the small island at the center, and took a moment to catch her breath.

Ahead of her lay the entrance to the largest cavern, a yawning blackness so intense she nearly lost her nerve. The smaller tunnels to either side were lit from deep within: to the left, vermilion glimmered like distant flames, to the right, emerald flickered like the sun through swaying tree-branches. Larger tunnels flanked those two, in turn. One gleamed with a steady gold, the other shimmered with dazzling sapphire like a reflection off water.

Allura whispered words under her breath. Over the centuries, the poem's obsolete dialect had become a song, a lullaby sung to every royal child. She had to hope the creatures would not be offended by her sing-song recitation. Without the coronation ritual, this was her only other means of saving her family's legacy and proving her right to be Queen.

She raised her hands to the darkness and called forth her people's ancient guardians.

 

 

 

Keith staggered to his feet, one hand to his chest. His instructor's kick had caught Keith square in the chest, sending him flying across the practice grounds. At least he'd kept his grip on his knife, this time.

"Again," Antok ordered, beckoning. His tail lashed around his ankles, a sign of his amusement.

"I know," Keith ground out, and wiped dirt from his chin with the back of his hand. He balanced on the balls of his feet, keeping his weight light.

"Halt," someone called from across the open space. "The leader requires Keith."

Keith was tempted to rush Antok in the momentary lull afforded by the distraction. Antok made a sharp gesture, and Keith sank back. Antok hadn't been distracted, if Keith had. A rush only would've gained yet another humiliating throw nearly the distance of the yard.

"Go on," Antok said.

Keith sheathed his knife, gave Antok a cursory bow, and left the open meadow, heading for the main Marmora den. They'd moved into their wintering territory around the time Ulaz and Thace had left for Daibazaal, and Keith had been jittery ever since.

He hated being left behind, but this time it'd hurt almost physically to bite down on his protests. Keith had inherited his Galra mother's facial markings and his human father's features, while Thace and Ulaz were full-Galra. Keith had learned to stay in the shadows as a messenger, but those two could walk undetected among the Galra of Daibazaal in a way Keith never could.

Keith nodded to the Marmora he passed on the trail. Most wore their hair in the traditional long braid, including many non-Galra partners who'd joined the Marmora as the only safe place to raise their blended families. Keith kept his head down as he ran past two lanky full-Galra his age. Like Thace and Ulaz, neither had braids. Covert work in Daibazaal meant adopting modern Galran styles to blend in.

The trees were thick enough to cast deep shadows even in midday. The worst of the winter was past, though a few patches of snow remained in the shadowy crevices. Keith shivered, nostrils flaring at the scent of dirt, the tang of an approaching thunderstorm, and his own sweat. He leapt over low underbrush as a shortcut, landing on the dirt path and taking off again.

Ahead lay the tribe's den, camouflaged to appear as a low rise, unremarkable in the forests' rolling ground. Keith ran down the stone steps into the sunken structure, the flash of annoyance almost subdued. Unlike full-Galra—or larger half-Galra like Antok—Keith had no need to duck his head as he came through the door.

The interior was much larger than would be expected from the outside, the upper floor open to look down on the central gathering hall. During summer, the tribe travelled light, breaking into smaller groups and only coming together for holy days. In winter, all eighty of them slept cheek-to-jowl in the den, until it was hot enough to make the sharp winter chill outside a welcome relief.

"Kit," Kolivan called, from down in the center of the gathering hall.

"Coming," Keith called, tempted to jump straight down, and thinking better of it. Kolivan had a sense of propriety, and wasn't above yanking Keith from a mission if displeased.

The interior's half-light—a mix of sunlight filtering in through the open vents and the ever-constant hearth fire in the center—cast harsh shadows across Kolivan's expression. His slate-gray skin was marked with a scarlet stripe across his brow that extended to edge his white-furred ears with red, a startling contrast to his bald pate and scarlet skull-ridge.

Keith clattered down the spiraling wooden steps to meet his foster-grandfather in the center. Quiet murmurs of other conversations drifted across the large space, but it made for pleasanter close quarters if everyone kept their voices low and pretended to be deaf.

"Have you heard something?" Keith asked, too nervous to wait through another of Kolivan's pondering silences. "Where are they now?"

"On their way to Altea." Kolivan wore the broad-shouldered coat of a tribal leader and looked the part, but for a long-healed scar. The streak of paler gray ran from forehead, through his brow, and down most of his cheek. Between that and the naked Marmora blade at Kolivan's hip, only a fool would argue with the tribe's military leader. Unfortunately for Keith, he'd often been that fool.

"They're taking him—" Keith broke off, uneasy. There was one detail he'd never admitted to Kolivan, knowing it violated the most basic of Galran principles. "Home," he finished, uneasy.

"Altea would hardly surrender a Daibazaal officer and not receive back its lost son." Kolivan stared down at Keith, frowning when Keith didn't quite look him in the eye. "Kit. I'm sending you to Oriande."

Keith waited, unwilling to allow himself joy quite yet. Six years of training, only to be assigned to Kolivan's own team. Three years of chafing under Kolivan's watchful gaze, until Keith had won his position on Thace's team. Three moons was too soon for Kolivan to forgive the disaster of Keith's first solo mission. Then again, a lifetime was too soon for Kolivan to forget.

"Talk to Ilun," Kolivan said. "She has a list of places you should find Thace and Ulaz."

It wasn't quite solo, but more than Keith deserved. "What do I need to know?"

Kolivan's ears flattened slightly, a rare sign of unease. "We're hearing disturbing rumors coming from Altea. The queen may be injured, or dead. As of yesterday, the crown princess has also disappeared."

"Maybe she's mourning in private." Keith couldn't blame her. It'd taken him almost a full year before he'd spoken to anyone, after the Marmora had found him.

"Unlikely. The Altean royal family has very precise protocols." Kolivan sounded like he approved.

"Why does it matter—" Keith cut off at Kolivan's sharp glance. The only thing more secret than operative identities were client identities. "I meant, I thought Altea's ministers ran everything. The royals are just figureheads."

"Not in times of war. If Altea turns chaotic, I want our people out safely. Come."

Keith followed Kolivan to one of the back of an alcove created by the second level's overhang. Kolivan placed his hand to the wall. A tiny red streak ran in a square around Kolivan's hand, leaving a seam behind. The little door popped out, and Kolivan brought out a leather bag. He set it in Keith's offered hands, saying nothing when Keith looked inside.

"I don't understand." Keith tilted the bag's opening to let light shine on the object: a murky ball, made of some rock or glass. Its surface was etched with lines that formed no discernible pattern. "You want me to take him a rock?"

"It's called a jarta." Kolivan took the bag, pulling the drawstring tight, and set it back in Keith's hands. "There aren't many left. This one has been in my family's keeping for eight generations."

A family heirloom, then. Keith couldn't comprehend giving away something so precious.

"It's not a rock, it's an energy-source." Kolivan gave Keith one of his rare smiles. "You've seen pictures of mountain day-lizards."

Keith shuddered. Nasty-tempered creatures. Hides too ragged for tanning, bones too brittle for carving, flesh too foul from eating anything that fit in their mouths. No point in killing one, especially when their poisonous saliva usually killed the hunter, first.

"Now, imagine a day-lizard ten times that size," Kolivan said, and laid his hand over the bag. "Each had a jarta nestled between their eyes. Break it, and the creature died. But kill the creature with the jarta intact..." Kolivan pursed his lips, a touch of skepticism. "Until someone discovered quintessence fractures, this was the world's most powerful form of energy."

It didn't seem like much. Keith hefted it in his hand. It was too large to tuck into his armor, and despite its solidity, it felt fragile. He'd need to pack more, even if only as padding.

"Take that to Thace," Kolivan said. "If Altea falls into disorder, he can use that to buy all of you safe passage."

But not without leaving someone behind. Keith swallowed his frustration. "How soon should I be there?"

"Best within a half-moon. Sooner, if you can manage it."

 

 

 

Pidge stood in the lee of a doorway, tightening her head-scarf and wrapping the ends around her neck. She was down to her last handful of coins, the city's random tremors were giving her vertigo, and if she had to hike up another flight of endless stairs, she was going to slap a hand down and flatten the entire city.

A quarter-moon since she'd arrived, on guard but hopeful she could petition the royal family. Her timing couldn't have been worse, with the Queen injured in a rockfall. Then the princess disappeared for two days, and even when Pidge got in line before dawn, the princess had barely seen three petitioners before refusing the rest. Pidge had chosen Altea as the most powerful of Vakar's allies, but she was starting to doubt that wisdom. It seemed to be a city of people with more money than brains. Maybe it was time to pay her last coins to the inn, get a private room, and get down to work. Being the youngest in her family didn't make her weak. She could cast as well as the rest of them, in her own way.

The ground shuddered beneath her for the fifth time that day. Pidge leaned against the door, holding on until the vertigo passed. From somewhere inside the residence, pottery shattered. Feeling slightly nauseous, Pidge stepped back into the main thoroughfare.

Or maybe it was time to consider petitioning Pollux, instead. Altea seemed to be in some kind of trouble. There were the bizarre tremors, but when she'd thrown her hearing at people in the marketplace, their rumors just put her on edge. Ancient beacon fires on the mountains, which seemed to have everyone quietly excited but sounded like bad news to Pidge.

The crowds parted for three young Oriande lordlings out for a stroll. Rich, definitely. Their skirted tunics were stark white, their leggings cut fashionably close. Plenty of people wore capelets over their shoulders, but blue seemed reserved for the nobility, and these three had blue edged in gold trim.

Pidge pulled back between two older women debating the merits of red squash versus orange, and threw her hearing at the lordlings. Their conversation faded when they turned the corner out of sight, but she'd gotten enough. The beacons were a sign for Altea's greatest warriors to present themselves at the castle. Some kind of event called the selection.

"Your family hasn't the stones," one of the lordlings had teased his friends.

She let her feet carry her along, tossing her hearing one way, then the other, and slowly became aware there was a double meaning to the crude joke. There were stones, mostly held by the noble families that rules Altea, and those stones were the ticket into seeing the princess.

That made it easy. Find someone wealthy-looking, and if they didn't have a stone, they'd have money, anyway. The question was finding something she could appear to offer, that they'd want. Pretending to tell the future would've been her first choice, but she hadn't seen anyone laying out a blanket with the cheap knock-off tools people used when they wanted to fake being a magus. Alright, she'd need a different angle, then. Pidge scratched her cheek, thinking, dodged two lumbering Balmerans, and followed the foot traffic until she found one of the streets that ringed the mountain rather than climbed it. No stairs made it even better.

Now it was just a matter of waiting for someone to come by who looked born to status. Pidge settled herself on a bench beside a wishing fountain—the first sign Altea had even a remote sense of superstition—and watched the midday passerby. She didn't have to wait long, straightening up at the first sight of someone dressed in a brightly-color tailed jacket.

A young man, brown-skinned and white-haired, with a gold-trimmed capelet and luminescent markings distinctly heavier and thicker than most of the crowd. Pidge threw lures at him, as fast as she could. It was almost startling to see him react, rather than brushing off her casts with an instinctive touch to a magus-bane or protective amulet. Such easy pickings. No wonder her mother had scoffed at ever coming to visit. Pidge and her brother would've wrecked the place inside of a day.

The man veered from his course to approach her, a baffled look on his face.

"You're late," she said.

"Sorry?" He blinked at her, pulling back slightly.

Or maybe Alteans were just too pragmatic. Pidge tossed more lures, enough to make a cow turn besotted and follow her home. "You're the eldest son, yes?" 

"Ah, no, you're thinking of my brother," the man said. "I'm Falar. We get mistaken for each other often."

"You'll have to do, then," Pidge said, crisply. "Have a seat."

"I—uh, alright." Falar sat, a bit awkwardly. "Who are you, again?"

"You've heard of the Selection," Pidge said. She'd practically been able to hear the capitalization in the locals' tone. "Uh...a distant relative hired me to assist you."

"To assist—" Falar broke off with a groan. "Oh, Great-Aunt Mara. Tell her I'm fine, the birthday gifts were lovely, come up with a good excuse of why I haven't sent thank-you notes, but she is getting on in—wait, to help me?" He practically lit up. "So she's not mad I lost her favorite behemoths in a bad hand of triska?"

Oh, no. Lures worked so much better when the person didn't have a solid idea in their head, and she could lead them on cold. Pidge crossed her fingers under her cloak and gave a shrug. "Let's say she's… concerned."

Falar laughed. "She's always concerned. She's worse than my father."

"I couldn't say, but that's why she hired me."

"But you—" The haze cleared from Falar's gaze momentarily, and he gave Pidge a sharper look. "You don't look like someone Great-Aunt Mara would hire."

"That's exactly why I'm good at my job," Pidge replied, unruffled. "What's the point of a quiet message if everyone else stops to pay attention?" Under her cloak, she folded her hands in quick, precise movements, casting several more lures.

"Oh, good point. So, uh, you have a message?" Falar's eyes went glossy again.

"Yes, and it's about the Selection. In your opinion, is the family truly prepared?" Pidge held her breath. If he knew for certain the family couldn't participate, it'd be enough to break her lightweight lures.

"Well, my brother wants to try, but he's about to get married," Falar said, thoughtfully. "He's already going to inherit. This could be my chance to make a name on my own, y'know?"

"That's thinking ahead," Pidge coaxed. "And have you had someone confirm the family's stone?"

"Do what?" Falar shrugged. "It's been in a box in the attic for like fifty years, I guess. What's there to confirm?"

"The stones…" No, stones wouldn't go bad like milk. Pidge wished she had a better sense of what they were, but then again, no one else she'd overheard had any idea, either. "They, uh, lose strength. Over time. And from use."

"No one's used ours in maybe a hundred years," Falar said. "We're more the kind who makes money than kills people. But the stone is awfully old. It doesn't look like much, either. It would be embarrassing to show up and have it turn out to be a dud, too."

"That's why I was hired. I can test it." Pidge smiled, encouraging, and stood. "We have no time to waste. Show me to the stone, so I can make sure."

Falar's grin was affable, and she almost felt bad for the continual lures she was slathering across his mind. She threw in a cast for hush, just enough that she didn't have to keep making conversation, and followed Falar through a series of twisting alleys, up two flights of stairs, and out onto another ringing road.

His family's residence sat up above the street, at the top of more stairs long enough to switch back twice. Pidge trudged up behind Falar, hands busy in every shape she knew, stocking the casts in the weave of her cloak, just in case. She should've prepared a little better. Her fingers were getting tired.

She had to waste a blur on the servant who opened the door, and then two more when the servant didn't promptly look right over Pidge's head. Maybe there were a few in the city who weren't hollow between the ears, after all.

Falar waved the servant off, and led Pidge into a room Falar seemed to consider grand. It was adequate, but maybe city residences were a smaller scale of living. Pidge ignored the gaudy wall-murals and overstuffed chairs, following Falar to a table against the wall, where the stone nestled in a bed of straw. Falar picked it up, tossing it to her so casually Pidge nearly fumbled and dropped it.

"Doesn't look like much, does it," Falar said.

Pidge turned the stone over in her hands. It was too big to cup between her fingers, maybe about the size of a green squash, but a strangely flat steel color. It wasn't rock, but neither was it glass. It was too cool to be wood, but she'd never seen carved lines like that in any metal. Squiggly and random, like runnels left by cika-blossom vines in the red brick walls of Vakar homes.

"So?" Falar prompted. "Is it too old?"

"I'm checking," Pidge said, with half her attention. This was her uncle's strength, but he'd once explained the basics. She held the stone between her palms, fingers curved loosely, and imagined her energies extending from her fingertips, into the stone. Pushing, seeking cracks, a way to slide a cast into its center.

Nothing happened. Pidge opened her eyes, studying the stone, turning it over in her hands.

"I didn't see anything," Falar offered. "While your eyes were closed, I mean."

"Yeah. I didn't feel anything, either." Pidge frowned. "Usually there's at least some glimmer. But it's… I think you might just have a strangely-carved rocks. Are you sure this is the real one?"

"Definitely." Falar tapped a lighter squiggle on the stone's surface. "My four-times-great-uncle carved his initials into it, when he was chosen as a warrior."

"He did _what_?"

"Yeah, he was like that." Falar brightened. "Everyone says I take after him. Maybe if I carve my initials, too—"

"Don't you dare," Pidge hissed, holding the stone away from him. "I might be able to fix this…"

Did she need to? Maybe she could just present it, and offer it to the princess in return for getting her petition heard. The princess could give it to whomever she wanted, after that. Pidge just needed a ticket through the door. She set the rock back in its box, closed the lid, and tucked the box under her cloak.

"I must inform your Great-Aunt," she said. "You should hear within two days."

"Alright, but if you can fix it, hurry." Falar escorted her to the door. "Selection lasts a moon, but if you take too long, all the positions might be selected by then."

"I'll be as quick as I can," Pidge promised. It wasn't a lie. She'd head straight for the castle's petition hall, stone in hand. Except that meant stairs. Fine, get something to eat, and then tackle the eighty flights of stairs up the mountainside.

"Hey, Great-Aunt Mara's a busybody, but this is really amazing of her." Falar's eyes remained glossy, but his expression was shifting into a pleasant kind of stupor. "I can't let you leave without something to eat. A drink, maybe?"

Pidge swore under her breath. She'd overdone it. She edged away from him, towards the door. With one box in her hand, she couldn't cast. She felt along the edge of her cloak for the stored casts. The bumpy one, that would work.

"I'll have the chattel bring around a palaquin for you," Falar offered.

"That's really tempting, but I'm fine," Pidge said, hand on the doorknob. She turned it one way, then the other, relieved when the lock clicked and she could pull it open. "I really shouldn't delay."

"What if I gave you—" Falar dug in his pockets and pulled out three gold coins. "If you could tell Great-Aunt Mara how helpful I was, get her to continue the allowance she used to send me—"

"I'll definitely put in a good word for you," Pidge said, juggling the coins and the box, finally getting the coins tucked into a pocket and her fingers back on the bumpy cast. Not that one, no, the one next to it. That'd blur his memory well enough.

She toed the door open wider, about to slip out. Falar reached for her, and his fingers landed on the scarf right as she moved. The scarf tugged loose, just enough to reveal her hair. Falar's eyes went wide in shock, expression clearing in abrupt awareness.

"That color—"

"Shit." Pidge tossed the cast at him, horrified when he staggered backwards, hands over his nose. She coughed, caught in the backlash of throwing a cast at something too close. Not blur, but stench. Oh, great. She fumbled for the rest of her casts, tossing two, too late realizing they were wasted on him.

Pidge elbowed the door open and ran, one hand holding the scarf in place, hiding her copper hair. Blur wasn't going to work, not after stench. She must've tangled her fingers at some point. Nothing brought a person to their senses faster than stench, except maybe salt. Pidge skidded as she hit the cobblestone street. Over her head, someone yelled, and Pidge took off running.

She didn't know the streets well enough to lose anyone in an alley. Her only choice was keeping to the main street and simply losing any pursuit in the crowd. Fortunately she'd gotten enough of a head start, and by the time she'd reached familiar territory, it'd been an hour since she'd heard anyone shouting.

Pidge came to a stop across from the inn, and slipped backwards into the alley, watchful. She checked her pocket, glad the coins hadn't bounced free. Definitely a private room tonight, a full dinner, a bath, and then she'd be ready for an evening of more careful casting. She had a big day ahead of her, convincing the princess to grant her petition.

Her family's lives depended on her success.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you who care, I usually come up with some kind of rough map just so I can keep clear on the directions of things and the distances between them. If you're into that, a big version is available [here](https://ibb.co/hGQA7n).

Hunk knelt before the rock outcropping and opened his pack, laying out his tools. Trowel, mattock, hand shovel, and finally a bundle of orange cloth. He unrolled the sash, grief striking him again at sight of his mother's careful embroidery, a protective prayer along the seams. Hunk placed the sash against his forehead, tied it at the back of his head and let the ends hang loose.

Once mud, centuries had compressed the creatures' deathbed into firm rock. The brittle bones had left narrow holes that told Hunk he'd chosen the right location. By the time Lance returned with food, Hunk had set aside the mattock and picked up his trowel, uncertain how fragile the legendary jarta would be. The lizard-stone wasn't much to look at, more dusty gold from ancient caked mud, but it popped out of the hole easily enough. Lance leaned in for a closer look, and Hunk elbowed his friend out of the way.

"You're blocking the light, buddy." Hunk held up the stone, rubbing with his thumb, revealing the jarta's true color. Almost ruby-red, it caught the midday sun and sparkled.

"Maybe you should cover that up," Lance said, glancing over his shoulder at the rocky land around them. He practically faded into the dusty land. All soft brown-gold: skin, eyes, hair a shade darker. It didn't help that his clothes were coated in layers of sweat and dirt from hiking into the nearest town for supplies.

Hunk placed a hand on the ground, listening closely. "No one's coming this way except for a few lizards and what might be a snake. How are you with snakes?"

"Make good eating." Lance handed over a large stuffed bun. "Got us these. Hey, you can eat puklo, right?"

"Seriously, just what do you think 'no dietary restrictions' means?" Hunk took a bite, noted clinically that the spices were a bit on the heavy side for a meat as light as puklo, and picked the jarta back up. "Tell me you got water, too."

Lance sat down cross-legged beside Hunk and hauled over a bowl, a brush, and two large water bags. "Right here. Hand over that… thing."

"It's called a jarta."

"It looks like a round rock." Lance poured water into the bowl, soaked the stone for a bit, and set to work scrubbing off the centuries of mud. From the movement of the shadows on the rock, a quarter-hour passed before he called out to Hunk, holding up the stone. "It's pretty!" He'd managed to uncover about half the surface.

"Great, keep going." Hunk crawled across the rock to drop a second jarta in the bowl. "Second one."

"Sure, sure," Lance said, still enthusiastic.

Six hours later, the shadows were long and the sun was an hour from setting. Hunk had followed the layers of bone-tunnels and patiently chipped out eleven more stones. With each one, Lance's enthusiasm had dimmed. He'd whined under his breath with the sixth one, and groaned loudly at the ninth. He looked ready to toss the last one at Hunk, but he froze when Hunk put up a hand.

That was one thing Hunk did appreciate about his unusual travelling companion. Lance would play at being lazy and oblivious, but he was sharp enough to know when to quit.

"Someone's coming," Hunk whispered. The ground vibrated with heavy footsteps. Men, or large pack animals, and moving steadily. Maybe a quarter-hour, a little more. Hunk shoved his tools into his pack, scuffing the ground where he'd sweated all afternoon. No reason to take risks.

Lance shoved the bag of jarta at him, slung the waterskins over his shoulder, and followed Hunk away, the bowl of muddy water sloshing in his arms. The last rays of the sun turned the ground a copper-gold as they tucked themselves into another rocky hollow maybe a half-mile distance. Lance poured out the water into a rock crevice, while Hunk checked again.

"All clear?" Lance murmured, under his breath.

"I think so." Hunk raised himself to a crouch, peering across the uneven landscape, pitted with gulleys by long-ago floods. Against the growing night, the excavators' red torches would be seen for miles. "Doesn't look like they realize they're not gonna find anything."

"Score for us," Lance said, pulling on his pack. "Let's get out of here. Twelve is enough, right?"

"Should be." Hunk shrugged. "Which way is the coast?"

"Finally something I can do." Lance stood, and gave Hunk a hand up. "You know there are rocks at the shore, too? Can't you just talk to the rocks and have them ask their neighbors, or something?"

Hunk laughed at the very idea. "That's not how it works."

"Don't see why not." Lance fell silent, letting Hunk take the lead.

An hour of hiking led them by a roundabout path back onto the road to the little town. The two moons were high overhead, making the landscape bright and their shadows short. Gradually Hunk could smell the change in the air, a faint hint of salt. Another hour, and they'd be in Devron, Kythra's largest port. Hunk had never left home in the first nineteen years of his life. In one year, he'd made up for that twice over. 

Lance strolled alongside, head tilted back, star-gazing. Not the kind of person Hunk could quite trust, but likeable enough. And knowledgeable enough to be a worthwhile guide, so long as there was water somewhere around. Hunk swung his pack around, rooting in the bottom for one of the cleaned jarta. The moonlight cast an iridescent sheen across its surface.

"Is it broken?" Lance asked. "It's not that pretty red, anymore."

Hunk squinted at it. Lance's night-vision was eerie, sometimes. It just looked like a dark gray ball, to him. "It's probably oxidized," he said. "It hasn't been exposed to air since it was buried in the mud."

"So after you give one to the princess, what're you gonna do with the rest of your share?"

"What do you mean, my share?" Hunk shoved the jarta back with the others. "You get one as payment. The rest is mine."

"I helped scrub them clean," Lance said.

"Then I'm docking you five of your share for complaining the whole time."

"Aw, man." Lance laughed. "We should be seeing the city's outskirts in a few. You wanna…" He tapped his forehead.

Oh. Hunk sighed. "Kythra has the same superstitions?"

"No one's gonna throw mud at you," Lance said. "But they might stare at you sideways."

"Then I'll leave it," Hunk declared.

After Balmera had fallen, Hunk's clan had fled south in groups of twenty and thirty, carrying what little they could save. With the assistance of a Nalquod smuggler, they'd made it across the inland sea to Pollux, which had refused their petition and chased them out. Javeeno, farther south, had seemed welcoming.

That hadn't lasted. Two moons before, Javeeno's army swept down on the clan's bustling village of Nilofar and burnt it to the ground. Hunk had fled with his family, a pack of hastily-packed belongings over his shoulder and his arms full of his terrified nephews. At dawn, they'd drawn straws. Reiphod, Vandor, Dalteria, Karthulia, Thayserix: somewhere among these, his clan would find a new homeland.

Hunk's destination had been Vandor. From Pavonis, he'd find a spot on any ship heading north on the inland sea. He'd been studying the list of ships with berth space when Lance had struck up a conversation, and casually dropped news that Altea had lit its beacon fires.

Like anyone else in the known world, Hunk had grown up on the legends of Altea's warriors. Each warrior swore upon a jarta, and was chosen by one of Altea's mythical defenders. Hunk had no interest in fighting, but jarta were rare. Holding one would get him inside the palace, orange clan-sash or not. From there, he'd offer the rest in exchange for his clan being granted some pocket of unused land. It'd be hard adjusting to Altea's deep forests and harsh winters, but peace was worth any price short of his clan's lives.

Luck was with them, at the port offices. The wind had shifted, the tide was going out, and three ships had available berths. Hunk ignored Lance's muttered worries, and arranged room for himself and Lance, signing himself on as cook's assistant, and Lance as a sail-mender.

"You can handle a needle and thread, right?" Hunk asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"Well enough I don't stab myself." Lance hunched his shoulders. "Are you sure we can't walk?"

"I thought you were all about water."

"Yeah, in it. A boat is on it. Not the same thing." Lance sighed, staring up at the riggings, dark against the dawn sky. "Well, here goes."

"Cheer up. In a half-moon, you'll be on solid land again." Hunk grinned. "Quarter-moon if the captain wasn't lying about having a Vakar magus on board."

"You could give me the stone now and we could go our own ways."

"Nope." Hunk planted a hand between Lance's shoulder blades and shoved him up the gangplank. It was easy enough. Lance was tall and gangly, where Hunk was tall and solid. Lance yelped, leaned back, and Hunk just kept walking, pushing Lance along. "You've been to Vakar, and know the back ways into Altea."

"Are your feet broken? There's a beautiful bridge from Kythra to Olkarion, too. It's only—"

"A six-day walk."

"We could jog?"

"Get on the ship, Lance." Hunk gave the captain a grin, hoping to ease the man's suspicious look, and hustled Lance along. "Five, six, alright, we're bunk seven. You want the top or bottom hammock?"

"Top, I guess."

"If you get sea-sick, we're switching," Hunk warned. He locked their packs in the chest provided, and tucked the key into a safe inner pocket of his jacket. "You should let the sail-master know you're here."

"Yeah, yeah." Lance stretched, going up on his toes from the movement, and banged his hands against the low ceiling. "Ow. Just so you know, the agreement was that I'd drag you into trouble, not the other way around."

Hunk laughed. "I'm sure you'll get your turn, eventually." He doubted it. Once he was in Altea, they could go their separate ways. He could stop wondering  how Lance could disappear and return with whatever they'd needed, and turn his mind instead to helping his clan build their new home. 

 

 

 

Pidge collapsed onto her chosen bed in the inn's attic. Everyone else was out, and she had a moment of privacy. She'd waited in line, jarta in her pocket, pleased to see most of the warriors turned away for lack of one. She was less pleased to find that having one just put her on a list. It didn't get her an audience with the princess.

She had no idea what the list was for. She'd given them her alias, anyway. She'd decided instead to sell the jarta. Plenty of the warriors were decked in their fanciest, and that meant money, or a wealthy patron. Oriande put more effort than Vakar into hiding its corruption, but bribes were bribes.

Fate had other plans. Her failure with the lordling meant her description was now plastered on the walls beside the castle gates. She was stuck with a jarta she couldn't sell, unless she put the effort into making sure her appearance was fully altered.

It took three days to weave every possible detail. Hair from copper-brown to black. Eyes from honey-brown to green. She thought better and gone with blue—a common Altean color—before deciding on green, after all. She thickened her lips, squared her jaw, and elongated her earlobes like the nobles of Chandra.

There were shortcuts, too: she checked out of the inn, hacked off her hair in an alley, and then spent nearly a day finding a place to hide or burn it before remembering Oriande wasn't lousy with magi like Vakar. There was one bright spot: she could just toss nail clippings in the trash, instead of burning them against malicious use. She'd finally tossed her hair in a dung heap behind a brothel. There was enough other bodily waste there, she was sure, though she didn't want to think too close about the kind.

All that effort, and she'd returned to find the lines had dwindled, and every warrior had a jarta. Maybe the first quarter-moon had been people hoping they could get in without one, but now no one wanted the one she had.

Pidge held the jarta up, turning it over in her hand. It'd had no reaction to anything she'd done. It might as well have been a stupid rock, after all. Pidge swung her legs around and sat up. Maybe she hadn't been wrong about the jarta being worn out. The first day she'd been at the castle gates, a woman had held her jarta for a moment before passing it back and sending her to the scribe to leave her name and residence.

A temporary residence she'd left, anyway, once she'd changed her appearance.

She tapped the stone, considering. It was her grandmother's style, but if she kept her attempts small, the backlash shouldn't be too fierce. Pidge licked the stone, and waited. The attic only had one window, and the afternoon beams were full of dust motes. She couldn't tell whether the stone had flickered, or if that was a trick of the dusty air.

Her other two options were to pee on it, or bleed on it. Each had their own qualities, though Pidge only had academic experience. First she'd try bleeding on it, and if that didn't work, she'd pee on it. And then probably throw it away as a stupid rock with no value.

Pidge settled the jarta in her lap, got out her handy tool-knife, took a deep breath, and sliced through the base of her thumb. She choked on a cry, startled at how much it hurt. One more reason to stick to her own preferred style, but at least her palm was covered in blood.

She picked up the stone, delighted when it turned a brilliant red under the streaks of her blood. She slathered it completely, wrinkling her nose at the stickiness as the blood dried. Her hand continued to bleed. Pidge wrapped her hand with her head-scarf, and picked the stone back up.

"No," she whispered, as the stone lost its brilliance. Now it was a gray stone with flecks of brown from dried blood. Pidge dropped it in her bag with a frustrated groan.

Fine, then. In the morning she'd find Falar's house, leave the stone on the doorstep, ring the bell, and run. That would at least get his family's attention off her.

She'd put in a good attempt, but it was time to head to Chandra.

 

 

 

Lance stood along the prow, glad he could eat again without feeling queasy. He hated cooked fish. Even Hunk's cooking couldn't save that.

Sister moon was setting at the horizon, off starboard. Slightly north, brother moon lingered in the sky, casting the rolling waves with glimmers of silver. A few sailors stood about at mid-ship, playing instruments, while two danced. Hunk was below-ships, probably thinking up new ways to make rice palatable.

Something splashed in the water, large enough for Lance to straighten up from the rail. There were no sea-monsters in the outer sea; the straits were too narrow and too well-protected. And the only other thing around large enough to make that kind of splash…

Lance caught the shape out of the corner of his eye, and the blue-green iridescence as moonlight caught the figure's outline. Lance swallowed a groan. "What do you want, Marco?"

"Mom says you need to come home, now." His older brother twisted to sit on the railing, one leg hanging off for a quick getaway, should human sailors notice them. "She talked to Pop, and he's willing to forgive your temper tantrum."

"Great, but no." Lance leaned on the railing, arms crossed. The strong magus-inspired breeze caught at his hair, tossing it in his eyes. "Tell everyone I send my love, but I've got a job."

"You?" Marco laughed. "That's funny."

"I'm serious. I'm a guide."

"On land?" Marco pretended to wipe tears from his eyes. "Oh, that's hysterical. What do you know about land?"

"I've had four years, Marco. I've learned more than you'll ever know." Lance hunched his shoulders.

It'd take no effort at all, just over the railing and into the water. He could finally return home, where… he didn't belong, either. The elders had seen to that when they'd declared Lance oathbound. They didn't care when Lance protested, over and over, he'd never sworn an oath in his sixteen years. Every possible door had slammed shut. No apprenticeships. No relationships. No future.

Every one of his people had a task they did, a niche they filled. He couldn't break an oath he never remembered making, and he couldn't swear a new one while the old one remained. Lance had been left adrift, almost literally. Running away had broken his own heart, but it was better than constantly being reminded of the shame he'd brought on his family.

"Oh, now you're just feeling sorry for yourself," Marco said. "Mom and Pop were never going to throw you out."

"I can't spend my life like that." Lance turned to face his brother, startled to see how much Marco had grown in the year since Lance had ventured too near the water in Vakar. "Sure, you think it's fine 'cause you're a sub-lieutenant—"

"Captain," Marco corrected. "I'm captain of the east guards, now."

"Oh. Well, congratulations." Lance wished he had something worth boasting, too. He could say he was the best thief in Pollux, except he'd only been there for two moons. Just long enough to smile at the wrong girl and get chased out of town by the capital's largest gang. "How many kids you got now?"

"Just had another girl." Marco smiled, fondly. "Mom says she takes after you."

"I hope not. I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

Marco's smile faded. "It's been long enough. Pop's willing to petition the elders to do a vision on you, and find the oath. If you're really innocent, they'll help free you. We're your family. We worry about you. We _care_ about you."

That was a first. Lance raised his head, almost hopeful, until he saw the meaning beneath the words. "If you really cared about me, you'd never have doubted my innocence in the first place."

"You can't blame us for that." The last rays of brother moon lit Marco's frown in harsh lines. "They're our elders. If they don't know, who does?"

Lance shrugged. He didn't really have an answer. It'd taken a year away from them to see how spoiled he'd been, as the youngest. It'd taken another year to realize half his anger had been over losing that special treatment.

"Lance, please." Marco's voice turned coaxing. "Gramma misses you, and she's getting on. She's not going to live forever."

"That's low," Lance said. "You know Gramma would kick your ass halfway to Nalquod for using her in your guilt trip."

Marco's grin was quicksilver. "Hey, I figured it was worth a try."

Lance glanced over his shoulder. The sailors continued to play, the sounds carried away by the wind. The longer Marco stayed, the greater the chance someone would see. Of all the ways to end up back home, being thrown head-first off a ship was at the bottom of the list.

"Lance, you can't keep hiding from the truth." Marco sighed. "If your oath were up here, you'd have settled down by now. Found someone, started a family."

Too many responses, and all of them sounded like excuses. Lance ignored his brother's gaze and stared out at the moons, now eclipsed by the rolling waves.

"There's no life for you up here," Marco said. "It's time you accept that."

"I happen to have a life up here and it suits me fine. Maybe I'll come back to visit, but I've got things to do, first." Anything, as long as it meant he'd be someone important, impressive. Someone who hadn't needed the elders' permission to become an adult.

Marco rolled his eyes. "Now you're just being—"

"I'm being serious." Lance spoke without thinking, and a distant part of his mind wondered if he was as wide-eyed as his brother at the words. "You want to know _my_ oath? Here it is: I'm sworn to one of the Altean beasts."

"You can't," Marco breathed. "You're not—"

"Even down in the waters you can't have missed the news," Lance retorted. "The beacon fires are lit, and the call's been made. I'm answering it."

Marco's face closed down. "Fine. I'll tell Dad he can quit the petition, then."

"You do that."

"I'll tell Mom she can start crying for a different reason, too."

Lance threw his hands in the air, disgusted. "Whatever." He caught himself, not wanting to end on that note. But when he turned to look, Marco was already gone.

Great. He'd never made an oath in his life, no matter what the elders had said—and now he'd just sworn an oath as part of a lie. He was so doomed. The Altean beast would probably roast him in flames on the spot for the presumption. If he even made it that far, and that was a big if.

The almost-oath hovered in the back of his mind for the rest of the trip, leaving him preoccupied and snappish. Lance did his best to shove the worries away when even Hunk came close to boxing his ears for the bad mood. Lance had scrubbed the rest of the stones as a peace-offering, and it seemed to work. By the time they made landfall on Altea's shore, Lance had at least recovered the ability to pretend he was unconcerned.

While Hunk was distracted asking about the road to Oriande, Lance busied himself with providing supplies. A purse of silver coins, a second one of gold. Fresh fruit from a stall, nicked as he passed by. New boots for himself, though he paid for those by leaving his old ones behind. A handful of teased cotton padding for the stones, which were bound to be jostled more on a wagon than they'd been onboard the ship.

"I found us a caravan," Hunk said, when Lance returned. "We get ride and board free, if we're willing to be extra hands against raiders."

"That works." Lance checked the crowd. He'd need a bow, or a spear. Harder to steal those, since people tended to keep a tight hand on their weapons. He glanced at Hunk's downturned expression. "What's wrong?"

"I'd really rather not fight." Hunk shrugged. "I can, I just… I guess you could say the trade-off of no dietary restrictions is a stricture against taking life."

"You could just knock 'em about then." Lance pretended to hold a staff, making a few quick motions, including sound effects. "Like that."

Hunk stared at him, blankly amused. "If I held a staff like that, my fingers would be broken inside of a heartbeat, and I'd deserve it, too."

"Fine, you tell the caravan master to get me a good spear, and I'll pay for you to be a passenger."

Unfortunately, two of the merchants were Javeeno. The instant they saw Hunk, they descended on the caravan master, crying about sharing berth-space with an untouchable. It took the remainder of Lance's filched gold and silver to purchase the final wagon as Hunk's berth. Lance waved off Hunk's dejected apologies, and set about taking back each coin and then some, a finger-twitch at a time.

Even with the terrifying-looking creatures called behemoths pulling the wagons, it still took four days for them to reach Oriande's southern pass. Unlike Lance's two previous visits, the gates were wide open. The guards didn't seem to care about Hunk's jacket and sash marking him as Balmeran, or the way Lance's skin glittered momentarily as he went through the gate's wards.

Through the gates, Lance took a break to perch on the back of the last wagon beside Hunk.

"Y'know," Hunk said, munching on a bit of bread, "I've had enough of burning things, in one lifetime. But you gotta admit the beacon fires are awfully pretty."

"Kinda creepy, though." Lance leaned back on his hands, swaying as the cart rounded another curve. From here on, it was all down, until they reached Oriande's valley. Behind them, fireballs swirled in the air over the mountain peaks flanking the pass. "I mean, there's no smoke. It's just a ball of flame."

"Probably a gas you only find in Altea," Hunk said, thoughtfully. "Open a vent, it hits the air, and implodes. No smoke, 'cause nothing's burning. Well, except the gas."

"Do you even have a romantic bone in your body?"

"Sure I do. Just not about things being on fire."

Lance had no argument with that.

 

 

 

Keith tried to walk through Oriande like he knew where he was going, which was about the extent of any advice he'd ever been given about cities.

He'd been trained in travelling long distances on foot across open terrain. He could read animal tracks to avoid the worst predators or find the best prey. He'd struggled for a long time, but he'd finally mastered staying in the shadows when crawling across rooftops to find open attic windows. None of that was any use on a crowded street early on a late winter morning.

There were people everywhere, of every shape, color, size, dress, and speech. When Thace had gone undercover in Daibazaal, Keith had learned to move fast when carrying messages. As long as his markings were covered, full-Galra mistook him for a child, and paid him no mind. He wasn't sure what anyone would mistake him for here, except maybe one more lost tourist in a city full of them. Most wore simple jackets and leggings, flat-heeled boots, some with capelets around their shoulders. Those without capelets had their necks bare despite the cold, exposing simple torcs.

Keith kept his hood up and his cloak pulled close around him, covering his Marmora armor. Mid-morning, he finally found Thace at the third location on Ilun's list. A narrow two-story residence at the end of a lane, tucked among workmen's houses. Thace answered the door, glanced over Keith's shoulder, and ushered him in. The room was bare except for two simple stools. The plastered walls were gray with dirt, and bare of any wall-hangings, the fireplace and ceiling smoke-stained. A lantern hung from the ceiling, more light than the single shuttered window. It felt as cold and barren as the prison cell in Nalquod.

"Ulaz is at the palace, asking for passes to leave." Thace was tall enough that his head brushed the ceiling. "It seems the princess wants to meet us, before we depart."

"Is that bad?" Keith had no interest in meeting anyone, especially not someone with the power to order his death if she didn't like his half-Galra existence. When Thace didn't reply, Keith's worry spiked. "Is Ulaz alright? Were either of you hurt? Is—is Shiro—"

"A slave. Did you—" Thace broke off, eyes narrowing. "You _knew_."

"Not for certain." Keith hunched his shoulders. "It didn't matter. He saved—"

"You had us return a _living being_. To the state of being _owned_."

"I told him he could claim shelter with us—"

"Not under those circumstances!" Thace's ears were flat against his head. "We hold our few alliances because we are good on our word, kit. We can't deliver a captured Daibazaal agent and tell Altea they gain nothing for the effort."

"You can't say you'd have left him there!" Keith burst out. "You have no idea what it's like in those—"

"I do know," Thace said, gently enough that Keith pulled back, chastised. "I don't know what we would've chosen, but I _am_  disappointed that you were not honest with us."

Keith sighed. "You're going to tell Kolivan, aren't you."

"I haven't decided."

"Oh." Keith dared a glance at Thace's preoccupied expression. "I would've gotten him out myself, if I could've. He insisted only one of us could make it. I couldn't—"

"I know, kit." Thace sighed, taking a seat on one of the wooden stools.

Keith had heard the lecture from Kolivan already, but somehow Thace's silence was harder to bear. He'd delivered the message to Marmora agents as ordered, and his return was for gathering any intel he could. When he'd overheard Daibazaal soldiers talking about a shipment of half-Galra female prisoners, Keith hadn't thought twice. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Thace waved a hand at him. 

"Enough. Sit down." Thace's smile was rueful, but not unkind. 

Keith set his pack by his feet and took the other stool. He'd thought the wind sweeping across the plains of Thaldycon could cut to the bone, but Altea's seeping chill was different. It felt deceptive, sliding quietly beneath his armor to curl up against his skin.

"What else do you know of this Shiro, that you didn't tell us?" Thace asked.

Keith grimaced and dug in his pack. He'd carried two things from the prison: information, and a broken piece of metal. "I found this in the cell. I didn't ask him about it, and he didn't offer. I think it's part of a torc."

Thace accepted the stub of tarnished silver, turning it over in his long fingers. A small black stone was embedded in the end. From the curve of the metal, the stone would rest against the neck when the torc was worn.

"Do you know what it means?" Keith asked. "I saw a lot of people wearing torcs on my way here. Most looked made of iron, a few of copper. I only saw three of silver."

"Those were slaves," Thace said. "All of them."

Keith stared at his instructor in shock. "But they were most of the people!"

"Yes. Oriande is probably three slaves for every free-born. This…" Thace tapped the jewel with a black-tipped claw. "This is a binding stone."

"What does it bind?"

Thace's mouth flattened. "It explains Shiro's insistence. When we first received him, he was badly injured, delirious from pain. He didn't want to return to Altea, but he wasn't lucid enough to explain why. We thought him simply confused, and Ulaz kept him sedated until we reached Olkarion."

Keith stifled his impatience.

"When he was well again, he only said Altea wasn't his home, but insisted he must return. It may be that he believes he has reason to be bound." Thace sighed. "Literally."

"What happened, when you got to Altea?"

"At the mountain pass, we had to wait under guard while others took Shiro away. When they returned him, he wore a torc." Thace held out the broken piece. "We were escorted under guard to the palace, where we were separated from Shiro. We were invited to stay at the palace, but as you can see… Ulaz disagreed."

Keith allowed himself a smile. It was probably more that Ulaz had grumbled, ears flat against his head. Thace had likely observed with all due patience, until he'd made his choice, and acted without warning.

"However, we can't leave until the princess summons us. I suppose our gate passes are contingent on her approval." Thace frowned. "With all the chaos at the palace, I'm not surprised it's taking longer than usual."

"Oh." Keith remembered the other item, and dug into his pack, unwrapping the leather bag. "Kolivan told me to bring you this."

"A jarta," Thace said. "Kolivan guessed well."

"He said it was an energy source, but it just looks like a round rock, to me."

"Anything we'd use quintessence for, we'd used jarta, instead. But being so limited and hard to obtain, jjarta were infinitely precious. Their main use was in war machines." The flat line of Thace's mouth said everything of what he thought of that.

"Like the Daibazaal and Chandra tanka?"

"Much bigger, and more powerful. Modern tanka are fully mechanical and mass-produced. Compressed quintessence doesn't require killing anything, but it must be refueled. Supposedly, jarta never required refueling, and could power aitanka. Part-mechanical, part-magical, and double the size and power of tanka."

"Kolivan told me these came from huge lizards," Keith said. "Why let those creatures go extinct, if that meant no more of these?"

Thace laughed. "You've seen day-lizards, and you ask that?"

"Day-lizards aren't good for anything."

"Neither were night-lizards, but quintessence rifts meant power was no longer only in the hands of the bravest, strongest warriors. Right could be shaped by something other than might, finally." Thace dropped the jarta back into the leather. "I'll leave it in your safekeeping."

Keith put the bag away, his mind churning over the information. "When I met the guide outside the pass, he said the beacons were for warriors to make pacts with Altean's guardians. If that requires a jarta, does that mean the guardians are actually aitanka?"

"It's likely. Whatever prompted the princess to call them up, it's bound to make any foreign power think twice. Legends say a single aitanka could take out a squadron of tanka." Thace stood. "Come, I'll make you something to eat, and then you can bathe and rest. By the time Ulaz gets back, you'll be ready for whatever's thrown at us, next."

Keith nodded, following Thace into the house's small kitchen. He sat at the scarred table and ate what Thace put before him, but his mind continued to spin over the information. Altea had machines that could withstand Daibazaal's tanka, and he had a stone that could power that immense machine.

By the time he stood in the wash-bucket, sluicing water over himself and washing off a half-moon of travel, his mind was made up. He'd find a way to claim one of the aitanka, and use it to strike every Daibazaal prison where his mother might be held.

Once he'd found her—and he would, one way or another—he'd return the aitanka. Altea could have the machine back, on one condition: Shiro's freedom.


	4. Chapter 4

A single footstep out of place splintered Shiro's nightmares. He came upright instantly, hand out, wrapped around the throat of whomever had invaded his privacy.

The figure didn't move, but neither did it speak. Shiro squinted at the darkness. The moons had set, and the room's single window let in only starlight. Whomever had entered his room, it was someone dressed for the shadows… who also had a faint hint of lavender.

"Who are you?" Shiro asked, voice rough from sleep.

"Shiro, it's me."

Shiro's fingers tightened instinctively as his half-asleep brain processed the voice. Pitched low, with a slight rasp, and saying Shiro's name in a way no one else ever had. Uncertain, hopeful. His cellmate, a lone voice in that prison's constant darkness. Keith.

Shiro let go immediately, sliding backwards until his shoulders hit the wall. He'd been returned home, as the agreement required. He'd seen his escorts' expressions at the mountain pass. There'd been nothing else to say then, and he had no idea what he was meant to say, now. He put out a hand, feeling for flint and lamp, his gaze on the dark figure.

"Here," Keith said. A bubble of gold formed in his palm, and floated over to rest on the table beside Shiro's cot.

The light grew, slowly, until Shiro could make out details. A dark cloak or loose jacket, hip-length. Dark leggings. Lean build, medium height. Either the jacket was hooded, or Keith's hair was as black as the shadows. Pale skin, with a darker mark on one cheek. The mark began as a point at the cheekbone, and ran diagonal down to the jaw. If it wasn't a scar, Keith was Galra. Or part-Galra, given the paler skin. At Keith's single nervous fidget, Shiro's sleepy ill-humor faded into a wry smile. 

He pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged and waved a hand at the end of the cot. "If I'd known this was a habit of yours, I'd have made plans for better hospitality to offer you."

Keith's smile was a little crooked, but it fit him. He pulled back his hood, revealing messy black hair that hung across his face and curled around his neck. Shiro gave a pointed look at the end of the cot, and Keith sat on the edge, tentatively.

"Unless there's a reason you can't visit during normal hours?" Shiro asked.

Keith's grin grew, almost abashed. "I wanted to see how you're doing."

"I'm in one piece again," Shiro said, holding up his hand. Too late he remembered Keith was unaware of the reason. "I was glad to hear you escaped successfully. The guards had told me otherwise..."

Keith nodded. "I'm in your debt."

"We're even," Shiro said. "You got me out, too."

"Not entirely." Keith's expression fell, and he touched his neck, not quite looking Shiro in the eyes.

Shiro swallowed hard. "Is that the reason you're here?"

"Why didn't you say anything?" Keith threw a sidelong glance at Shiro, and looked away. His Galra marking was on his other cheek; in the steady golden light, he could've been mistaken for one of the human races.

"There was nothing to say." Shiro leaned his head back, watching Keith from under his eyelashes.

He'd lost track of time in that perpetual darkness. It continued to surprise him that Keith had been his cellmate for a half-moon, not a single night. Or that he'd been in the cell six moons since Keith's arrival and departure, not three.

A half-moon since his return, and no word from the princess on his request. A half-moon of adjusting to a new arm, to the castle's clockwork order, to the memories already fading except when they came roaring back in nightmares.

Keith was quiet for a long moment, then reached into his coat. "I brought you these." He set a small package down on the cot between them. "I didn't know if you could get them in Altea."

Shiro bent forward, snagging the package with his fingertips. The contents felt hard and round, like marbles. He undid the twine, curious, and folded back the rough brown paper, then the white wax paper. The scent of ginger hit his nose immediately. Any thought of caution was gone, and Shiro popped a sweet-ball into his mouth, eyes stinging at the sharp flavor. He held out his hand, offering.

"Did you try one, when you got these?" Shiro asked. When Keith shook his head, Shiro couldn't resist. "Here."

"I brought them for you."

"You can't give me something and tell me I'm not allowed to share it." Shiro waved his hand, letting the amazing scent fill the air.

Keith's brows came down, somewhere between amused and annoyed. Shiro had to gesture a third time, and Keith carefully plucked one of the sweet-balls from the pile. He studied it for a moment, then put it in his mouth. A moment later he bent over, coughing.

Shiro laughed despite himself. "Oh, sorry, meant to warn you. Ginger's spicy."

"You eat this? And you enjoy it?" Keith spit out the ball onto his palm. "How much honey is in this?"

"More than I'm used to." Shiro crunched the remainder between his teeth, and took a second. It wasn't an Altean treat, and it wasn't quite the same as what he'd had, as a child. But it was close enough to almost bring tears to his eyes, although that might've been the ginger.

Keith held the ball between his thumb and forefinger, licking tentatively at the surface. He made a face each time. "I saw someone selling these, on my way through Chandra. I didn't realize it'd be so sweet."

"Chandra has a major honey trade. They put sugar in everything, and far more than most things need." He really should save the rest. A dozen marble-sized pockets of his childhood, even with the extra sugar. He forced himself to wrap the package up, and set it beside the quintessence bubble. "Thank you for that. I haven't had ginger-sweets in a long time."

Keith nodded, licked the sweet again, his shudder visible.

"You don't have to eat it, you know." Shiro grinned. "If it's too much for you."

"I'm getting used to it," Keith replied, with a frown. "It's… I thought it'd taste different."

Shiro leaned his head back, sinking down a little and getting comfortable. It was an unconventional visit, but perhaps Keith wasn't wrong in bypassing castle protocol. Shiro had no idea whether his rare personal time could include meeting with a non-Altean. He'd never had the experience, before.

That thought reminded him of another, though. He glanced at the heavy wooden door to his small room. It stood closed, the view-window blocked. Once he'd reached adulthood, he hadn't been locked in. He'd never had the right to bar it, himself, but he'd compensated by regularly destroying any attempts to keep its hinges silent.

"What skills do you have," Shiro murmured, half to himself. "Or did someone oil the hinges while I was away?"

"Hinges?" Keith followed Shiro's gaze. "I didn't come in through the door." He nodded towards the window.

Shiro twisted around to look, disbelieving. "That's a sheer drop, Keith! It's over a hundred sticks, all the way down!"

Whomever designed the castle's lower levels had thought ahead, too: unlike the levels above, the mountain's stone had been sheathed with slate, barely hairline cracks between. They'd been proven right, too. None had ever scaled the distance, that Shiro knew of.

"I guess?" Keith seemed to be attempting innocence, but his eyes were narrowed in a kind of pride. "I didn't come from below. I came from above." He pointed up, and gave the ginger-sweet another careful lick.

"Above? What were you—" Shiro cut off. If he'd befriended a spy, it was better to leave the truth unsaid. ""Forget I asked." Just as quickly, though, he knew the one question he did want answered. "How did you find me?"

Keith lowered the sweet, brow wrinkled. "I heard you yell, and I recognized your voice."

Shiro rubbed his forehead, embarrassed. How many nights had he been disturbing anyone else's sleep, on his hall? How many days had he pretended he was fine, and proved himself a liar at night?

"It wasn't that loud. I happened to be directly overhead. And it was too garbled to make out."

"Thanks for appeasing my pride." Shiro smiled when his dry tone got a soft laugh from Keith. "How long are you here for? I haven't been assigned to a new squad, yet. I have a free day tomorrow. I can—" No, he wanted to pretend he was just another soldier. "I can give you a tour of the castle grounds. It's much prettier in daylight, too."

"I'm sure." Keith shrugged, studied the ginger-sweet, and tossed it into his mouth. He crunched, twice, grimaced, and swallowed it. Shiro laughed as Keith waved at his mouth, tears glittering in his eyes. "Really—" He coughed. "You don't need to offer me another one. Please."

"I'll eat them and think of you," Shiro promised.

Keith's cheeks darkened, and he cleared his throat. "I have no idea when we're leaving. We're supposed to be waiting on the princess' summons. Then we get can passes and leave."

"Very polite of you." Shiro had serious doubts that Keith had used a pass to enter the city, or that he—or the other two—would be held back by the need, if they chose to leave. "Bureaucracy grinds slowly, though. Ever since the princess lit the fires, she's been too busy—" Of course a foreign power's guest would come before Shiro's own request. He pushed that thought away. "The castle usually runs a great deal smoother."

"What's going on?" Keith asked, almost plaintive. "Does this mean Altea's heading for war?"

"Technically, Altea's never been at peace." The ginger lingered on Shiro's tongue, warming him despite his chilly quarters. "It's been almost a hundred years since anyone's fought on Altean soil. Not because Altea doesn't fight, but because it sends troops elsewhere. It lets the war be on someone else's land."

"You sound cynical about it."

"I am." Shiro shrugged. "War is all I've done, most of my life."

Pollux had requested forces to defend against raiders, and Shiro's squad had been sent. They'd tracked the raiders, and stumbled right into the middle of a Daibazaal advance guard. Shiro's squad had been outnumbered, and they couldn't retreat with the river at their back. The only option was to fight to the last tanka standing, then fight on foot, the old-fashioned way.

Shiro's fatal error was truly a mistake. He'd lost his footing in the bloody soil. Falling meant he missed the swing that would've decapitated him, but it also left an opening wide enough for the Daibazaal commander. Shiro had been disarmed, captured, and forced to watch as the rest of his squad was slaughtered.

The Daibazaal commander's own mistake was to think Shiro an officer, based on Shiro's tanka and sword. Shiro had been carted off to Nalquod to await an exchange he doubted would ever come. When it had, he'd hardly been rational enough to realize it, anyway.

Keith's soft voice interrupted Shiro's meandering thoughts. "Are tanka hard to master?"

"Some people say so. I took easily to it, I guess."

"The Altean beasts are aitanka, right?" Keith raised his head to give Shiro a speculative look. "Are you going to claim one?"

"Me?" Shiro laughed. "There's no point."

"Why not?"

"The lions won't accept—" Shiro bit back the words.

In that endless darkness with Keith only a voice at his side, they'd talked of everything they missed. They'd exchanged names, but nothing else of their purposes, their existences before—or after—that darkness. That momentary freedom—paradoxical as it might seem—had made the pain of returning even worse. The castle's bulk suffocated him in a way he hadn't felt in over a decade.

"Shiro?" Keith asked.

"I meant that even if I had a jarta, the guardians would still ignore me."

"They'd turn down a battle-proven leader?"

Shiro gave Keith a closer look. "Do you know how it works? It's a blood oath. Cut your palm, hold the jarta until it's covered in your blood. If the lion accepts you, it'll bend down to let you put the jarta into its chest—"

"I still don't see why you couldn't."

"Because I'm not free," Shiro replied, frustrated. When had he given up on his anger? How could that time in the darkness have made him care again? "Making a pact with the Altean guardians means swearing on your life, and… you can't swear on something that isn't yours."

Keith's brows were down, and it was startling to realize Shiro's guesses of his cell mate's silences hadn't been far off. Keith was thinking, hard.

In the silence, Shiro couldn't resist. He had another ginger-sweet, rolling it around on his tongue while he waited for Keith's response.

"Is that written down, somewhere?" Keith asked. "What are the actual rules? Has anyone tried, or did everyone figure that's how it is?"

It was Shiro's turn to think. "I believe there's a carving in the temple. Something about a soul freely-born, and freely-chosen."

"You told me about your parents. When you explained what a piggy-back ride is. You were free then, weren't you?"

Always hiding, always running. A desperate kind of freedom. "Yes, but—"

"Here." Keith dug into his jacket again, but this time, he set a leather bag on the bed between them. "Use this."

"What is it—" Shiro picked up the bag before he'd even thought, loosened the strings, and nearly dropped the jarta when it rolled out onto his palm. "Keith!"

"Take it. A lion would accept you, I know it."

"It's not that simple—"

"I don't see why not."

"I can't accept this, Keith, it's too precious." Despite his words, Shiro couldn't quite bring himself to return the jarta to the bag, let alone hand it back. If Keith was right, if it was even possible—except it wasn't. "I appreciate the offer, but I can't." Reluctantly, he set it down between them.

"I swore to find my mother," Keith said. "I'm sure she's still alive. That's an oath, too. If you can't swear, how could I?"

More leaps in his thoughts, a pattern Shiro had learned in that darkness. He settled back, relieved they'd diverted from the topic of Shiro's existence. "Modern tanka don't care who pilots them, but aitanka are part-magical. Who knows how they decide."

"If I had a lion, I could strike every prison until I found her, and Daibazaal couldn't stop me."

"I'm not sure I'd counsel doing it by yourself. Don't underestimate Daibazaal's forces."

Keith shrugged. "They'd run out of fuel, eventually."

"And you'd collapse of exhaustion well before then."

"You sound like my instructor." Keith's smile was more of a curl of his lips. "You met him. Thace."

Several pieces fell into place. "You—you're the one who requested we stop in Olkarion?" Shiro held up his prosthetic hand, forming a fist. "I can never repay you for this."

"Repay me by claiming a lion. Help me attack Daibazaal and find my mother." Keith picked up the jarta and tucked it away inside his coat. "You said yourself it'd be unwise to go it alone."

Shiro grinned, shaking his head. "You're too single-minded." For a moment the impossible dream warmed him, even more than the ginger tucked under his tongue. "How about—" A distant creak from the hall, and Shiro put up a hand. "Someone's coming."

Keith moved instantly, slapping his hand on the quintessence bubble, plunging the room into darkness. "Don't forget," he whispered, his movement only discernible by the brush of air in his passing. "I'll be in the palace forecourt in the morning—"

And then he was gone, out the window. Shiro blinked at the sudden absence, cringing at the screech of his door. The guard thrust the lantern in, swinging it one way, then the other. Shiro threw up a hand, as if the light were a shock to his night-adjusted eyes.

"You talking in your sleep again?" The floor-guard shook his head. "Really, kid. Come see me tomorrow, and I'll get you permission to visit the temple. They'll get rid of your nightmares."

"I'll do that, sir," Shiro said.

The guard gave a suspicious sniff, shrugged as if he couldn't place the scent, and shut the door.

Shiro threw off the blanket, hurrying to the window. Downward to the rooftops of the highest houses pressed against the castle's base. Nothing moved. Shiro twisted to look upwards, in time to see a dark shape pulling itself up a balcony and disappearing from sight. Shiro laughed under his breath, returning to bed. He woke in the morning, half-convinced it'd been a dream, except for the ginger-sweets piled on wax paper.

 

 

 

Lance smiled when Hunk gave him a suspicious look for the sixth time. A jarta in his pocket, and his oath to his brother on the line? Big words, then, but it was different when it was him up against far too many land-dwellers. Yet another big guy in fancy dress barged into Lance, almost knocking Lance off his feet. He cursed at the man's back, but when Hunk looked Lance's way, the only thing to do was smile and keep his fingers to himself. 

They'd learned at the hostel that the beacon fires had been burning for a half-moon, long enough for word to spread pretty far. Nobles from Chandra with their gold-ear bobs so heavy their earlobes reached almost to their collars, and warriors from Pollux with silver cuirasses shiny enough for Lance to see himself in the metal. Three knights from Kythra—wearing brass helmets with cutouts for their bright ear-feathers—cast suspicious looks at six Karthulian soldiers, their spears almost twice a Galra's height.

And speaking of Galra, there had to be a half-dozen, all three heads taller than Lance and twice his width. Two more Galra stood apart, with a part-Galra kid trailing them. The kid looked up as Lance looked over. Lance grinned, showing his teeth. The kid frowned and backed up a step.

Hunk yelled over his shoulder for Lance to hurry, and shoved through the crowd, pushing to the front. Lance followed in Hunk's wake, and he might've loosened a few belt-strings of those who gave Hunk's orange head-sash a nasty look. See how impressive they'd be once the strings broke and their pants fell down.

The gates to the castle were narrow, forcing them to walk in pairs through a long stone-lined corridor. Large holes in the ceiling above were a hint of the castle's true defenses. Lance forgot that as soon as they turned a corner, stepping over a high threshold, and into the castle's outer ward. From the outside, the castle looked carved from solid mountain. The courtyard told a different story. Four stories, maybe five, all the way around, straight up, enclosing a courtyard large enough to hold the hundred or so applicants with room to spare.

On an unspoken cue—or they'd done this before—the warriors gathered at the base of stone steps along the wall, leading up to a second-floor entry. Lance hung back, more interested in the archway at the far end of the court. A half-height stone wall blocked a direct view, but it looked like a well was tucked into the base. Or more precisely, it was the dark-haired girl leaning over the well's edge, filling a large ceramic jug.

"Hey, Hunk," Lance said, absently noting someone in fancy robes now stood at the top of the steps, gesturing for quiet. "I'm just gonna wait over there..."

"I wonder who the other guy is," Hunk said, absently. "Sure, just don't wander too far."

"Right." Lance glanced at the well.

There was a flash of blue skirts as the girl went up the steps, water splashing from the over-full jug. Lance jogged after her, around the low wall, and up the smooth steps to the dark archway. It curved around, showing a glimmer of daylight from the top of a much longer flight than he'd expected. No sign of the girl, and Lance hesitated. He thumped himself in the forehead.

He'd sworn an oath, however paltry and unintended. Lance turned on the step, his foot sliding in a puddle left from the girl's passage. Before he could catch himself, his foot went out from under him, and he went down, hands out to catch himself.

One hand hit the rough-hewn wall, scraping Lance's palm open instead of letting him get purchase. His other hand landed in a puddle as Lance fell to his knees.

"Ahh, shit, shit—" Lance considered licking his palm, but the blood kept flowing. A deep cut, enough to hurt. He twisted around to sit on the steps, uncaring he sat in a puddle, focused on the blood dripping everywhere.

The well. Water would help. Lance pushed himself up, retracing his steps carefully back down to the well's edge. He shoved his hand into the cool dark water, muttering a prayer of forgiveness for the impunity. Something deep and blue glimmered far below the surface, and Lance leaned over a bit more, puzzled.

The jarta slid from his pocket and hit the water with a tiny plop. Lance cursed and shoved his arm into the water, chasing the jarta. It was at his fingertips, but he couldn't get a purchase on it. He reached, head hitting the surface and he was through, his upper body full immersed.

His gills fluttered at his neck, his eyes cleared, and he caught the jarta. Lance grinned and pulled himself back upright, as something knocked the jarta from his hand.

"Hey!" Lance splashed, bending over to wave his hand through the water.

The jarta was gone, and he was drenched. His palm still oozed blood, but not like anyone would notice the red against the dark colors of wet clothing. Lance smoothed down his gills until he could breathe air again, and pressed his palm against his jacket.

The courtyard was empty. Everyone had been hustled somewhere else for the actual presentation. Lance cheered up, some, at the realization this meant he'd had no witnesses for his fall, or his loss, but now he had no idea where Hunk had gone. Dejected, Lance dripped his way across the courtyard. The stables were opposite the steps where the warriors had gathered, and a low bench sat along the wall.

A good place for sitting in the sun and drying off. Lance got comfortable, sparing a moment to laugh at his own idiocy. His palm had mostly stopped bleeding, at least. He stretched out his legs, closing his eyes against the bright morning sun. Within moments, he'd dropped into a pleasant doze.

 

 

 

Hunk kept one hand on his pack, nervously following the procession of stately, battle-seasoned warriors down the curving stone staircase. This definitely wasn't where he belonged, but someone had said the princess would preside over… whatever was happening. Besides, not everyone in the crowd could have jarta. Someone was going to need some, and then he could step forward.

No, he just needed to talk to the princess. Or someone who could help.

At least he was roughly of a height with most of the other warriors, except the Galrans and the Kythrans. The stairs were barely wider than Hunk's shoulders, and seemed to go on forever.

The bottom archway opened into a cavern, lit all around by lanterns. Hunk licked his lips, tasting the air and testing its humidity. A space about the size of the courtyard maybe sixty feet above, by his guess. He casually brushed fingers along the wall, checking. Definitely an occupied floor above, and judging from the vibrations, probably the castle's kitchens. More rooms carved into the mountain, on the other side of the cavern wall. Certainly not the mountain's heart, but a good pretense of it.

The slope-shouldered person in the golden robes stood along the wall, just within the shadow beneath one of the lanterns. Not a warrior, or the person would be lining up with the rest.

Hunk sidled up close. "Hey," he whispered, out of the corner of his mouth.

The pitch of the cavern's walls and roof felt too intentional. He was glad he'd kept his voice down when a woman's voice seemed to come from everywhere. The princess stood in the center, nearly glowing in a white dress with darker trim. She spread her arms and greeted the gathered warriors with what sounded like a ritual welcome.

Hunk nudged the gold-robed figure. "I think I'm in the wrong place."

The person turned heavy-lidded eyes on Hunk, almost looking right through him, with the long stare of Hunk's family elders in their last days.

Hunk forced a smile on his face, and held out the jarta. "See, I have a bunch of these, but I don't really want to—"

The person held out their hand. Hunk hesitated, then figured he did have another ten. He handed it over. The person's long fingers curled, but the jarta went right through, plummeting to the ground. It hit the floor with a loud crack, rolled a pace, and dropped out of sight. 

"Hey," Hunk sputtered, falling to his knees to catch it, but his hands landed on a crack in the cavern floor, instead. Just wide enough to fit his hand. Hunk put his palm against the stone, feeling the jarta tumbling down into the earth until the echoes faded. "What was that about?" Hunk looked up. 

The person was gone.

Hunk looked around. No sign of the person, and he climbed to his feet, disgusted with himself. What a fool, to be taken in by a Vakar magi. Probably paid to reduce the competition, and Hunk had to have country bumpkin all over him. 

In the center of the cavern, the princess had finished her speech and beckoned to the first person. She placed a hand over theirs, then pointed them off to a side of the cavern.

Hunk considered getting in line with the rest. He did have other jarta, but he had no heart for warfare. All he wanted was to help his clan find a new home, and the princess was clearly busy sorting the warriors into groups. This wasn't the time to petition her. He cast a last look across the marvel of the castle's inner cavern, and began the long hike back up the circling staircase.

 

 

 

Allura's feet hurt. She really should've insisted on wearing her boots, instead, and possibly a thick coat, and forget about regal appearances.

The next warrior stepped forward, a robust Kythran-Galran warrior with elaborate colorful tattoos. The woman held out her hands, inclined her head, and closed her eyes, as the forty before her had done. Allura placed her hand over the woman's thick fingers and fierce claws, and concentrated.

"Yellow," Allura said.

The woman's smile was slight, but pleased, then she frowned.

"Ah, sorry, you'll need to head over to that corner," Allura said, pointing off to an area behind the woman. "Yes, thank you, next, please."

A sailor from Nalquod. Blue, which wasn't a surprise. A stout little soldier from Taujeer, though if Allura recalled Coran's lessons, all five Taujeerian genders had whiskers. She put that out of her mind, concentrated, and felt the gentle bell tone of Green.

According to her mother's stories, the bell-tones should ring loud enough to rattle Allura, but so far, everything had been subdued, almost distant. Perhaps she was doing it wrong. Was she too distracted?

"Red," she told the green-haired noble from Vakar. "Ah, right that way, yes. Thank you, next?"

Was she even guessing the right tones for the colors? Green was a sparkling bell, while Blue was medium-toned and even, then Yellow's sonorous ring, then Red's sharp chime. And Black would be deepest of all yet not a true note, her mother had said. Black would be like a gong, or so it said in Allura's great-grandmother's personal chronicle.

Another Altean noble, one Allura distantly recognized. She remembered not to smile more; Coran had been stern about appearing to play favorites. The noble collected himself, put out his hand, and Allura nearly jumped out of her skin at the intensity of the tone.

"Princess?" The young man asked. "Are you alright?"

"I'm—" Allura put a hand to her chest. Her heart was thumping wildly. "I'm—yes, I'm fine, you're Green." She waved vaguely at the cavern, her vision swimming.

The noble gave her a worried look, but headed off to join the other applicants in the corner around Green's altar. Allura didn't call the next applicant immediately. She swallowed hard, pressing her hands to her chest until her heart calmed. She took a deep breath and shook out her hands, feeling like the clear note continued to vibrate in her bones.

"Ah, sorry about that," Allura told the next person, a Polluxian with the red sash of a royal knight. The knight put out her hands, and Allura took a breath. "Blue," she said.

She shifted her feet, rolled her neck, and beckoned to the next person. About halfway down, and then the individual supplications would begin. At least she knew there was one guardian among the group. And more importantly, that she wasn't doing it totally wrong.

"Yellow," she said. "Thank you, right that way. Next, please."

 

 

 

Keith sat on the stone bench carved into the wall of the bureaucratic offices, in a surly mood and not caring who knew. He'd managed to slip away from Thace and Ulaz in the crowd only to run into Vrek, another Marmora agent. Vrek was there to apply, and more than happy to shove Keith back at Thace with a tease of trying again in forty years.

Now Keith sat waiting. At least the fire burned bright on the hearth in the waiting area, keeping the worst of the castle's chill away. Over by the railing, Thace and Ulaz spoke with two dun-robed clerks. A higher-ranked servant approached, beckoning the two along. Keith looked up in time to catch Ulaz' narrow gaze, and Thace's casual glance. Together, their silence equalled one of Kolivan's barked orders.

The servant hastened the two Marmora away, off to discuss a possible new mission. After that, they'd get passes, and be gone by nightfall. Keith dug in his jacket for the jarta.

It was as unimpressive in the mid-morning light as it'd been the night before. He wasn't entirely sure what had possessed him to offer the jarta. It wasn't his to give. The same instincts that told him to turn left in the prison hallway, rather than right. Except those instincts had gotten him caught and thrown into a dank cell, and now…

Keith hunched his shoulders, casting a glance around the room. No one paid him any mind. Just one more person in however many had sat at this bench, waiting for passes or paperwork or whatever else people did with endless shelves of stacked scrolls. He had a half-hour, at best. Ulaz tended to do most of the talking in negotiations, and he always made quick work of it. That meant Keith had to think fast, if he wanted to come up with a reason to delay their departure.

He could say Shiro had asked him to visit, except that he'd somehow left off finding Shiro, the night before. When Ulaz wondered aloud what mysteries the castle held that Keith had overheard so little, Keith had mumbled something about the nobles being cautious, or the shadows too thin. Besides, Thace's diplomatic conversations among the various nobles had probably garnered ten times the information.

Shiro hadn't been in the morning crowd, either. Keith had nearly put a crick in his neck, trying to find the face he'd seen, the night before. A kind face to match the warm voice. Short dark hair, and a white forelock that almost fell into his eyes. Young and old, at the same time. No idea of Shiro's height, only that his shoulders were as broad as Thace's. One hand was Olkarion-made, silver-chased metal bound with magic, and a silver torc.

Keith slumped on the bench. He wondered if Kolivan had already known, somehow. His foster-grandfather seemed to know everything, and rarely saw reason to tell Keith any of it. A slave, owned by someone. Probably the castle, or maybe the princess herself. Not just any scullion slave, though, if Shiro had carried a sword, piloted a tanka, and led his own squad.

It was hard to reconcile Thace's explanation with the nobility in Shiro's gaze the night before, or the patient compassion when he was only a voice in the darkness.

When the guards threw Keith head-first through the door, it had almost knocked Keith out. When his brains had settled back down, he'd been angry and terrified by turns. None of his clan knew where he was. If the guards executed him in the morning, no one would ever know. His name would be added to the list of those missing in action, and he'd never find his mother, never atone, never be anything but a hungry ghost at the edges of his clan's dwellings.

"Hey," a voice said in the darkness. "Breathe."

It had startled Keith, then calmed him, then amused him into almost laughing. He'd followed the sound until he'd touched bare feet. For lack of anything else to say and desperately needing to keep his fear at bay, Keith explained how he'd been caught, though not why. Shiro had given his story in turn, again with few specifics.

"You know what I'd really like," Shiro had said, when they'd fallen silent. "There are treats I used to have as a kid. We called them ginger-sweets. A little spicy, a little sweet. Hard candies you could suck on for an hour, or crunch between your teeth."

Keith had laughed at the unexpected wish. "Thinking of food makes you hungry, you know."

"Trust me, when the next meal arrives, you'll have no appetite, either." Shiro's hand caught Keith by the shoulder, tugging him close. "You're lucky, they didn't strip you down into prison rags."

"I wouldn't hold still long enough," Keith replied, letting himself be steered closer. The cold crept into his bones, and he found himself glad for the warmth of another person.

He'd lost his jacket, his gauntlets, and they'd ripped his leather cuirass from him. The Galra guards were all built like Kolivan, but Keith hadn't spent years sparring Antok and the rest without learning a few ways to use his leaner, smaller build to his advantage. It had pissed off the guards enough to throw him in a cell without further delay. Keith's blade had gone undiscovered in its knife-shape beneath his belt.

"What happens when they bring food?" Keith asked.

"Nothing." Shiro grunted, and the scattered hay rustled. He'd made a nest of it, somehow. "They push it through a slot at the bottom of the door."

"They have to open the door eventually."

"They do, but not regularly. As they remember, I suppose."

Time was impossible to measure in the darkness, and Keith eventually found himself in the curve of Shiro's arm. There was no telling how long Shiro had been in there, but his kindness deserved to be repaid, and Keith did so by staying close, lending his body heat. Their conversation drifted from food, to favorite games, to the sunrise over the inland sea, to whether boots were better than sandals. All whispered, too low for any suspicious guard to hear.

Someone sneezed among the scroll racks, startling Keith from his memories. His hands had gone lax, and his fingers twitched with the surprise. The jarta fell to the floor with a loud crack and rolled across the stones towards the fire.

Too late, Keith lunged from the seat to catch it. He missed, and it rolled into the coals. Keith scrambled for the fire-poker hanging by the side and pushed at the jarta. That only shoved it deeper into the fire. His movement bumped one of the logs, and it crashed apart, sending up a shower of sparks. When Keith lowered his hand, blinking the smoke from his eyes, the jarta was gone.

He prodded the fire in one place, then another. Nothing resisted with the solidity of stone or glass. It was only broken coals and chunks of burning wood. Keith sat back on his heels, disbelieving.

Not only had he still not come up with an excuse to linger long enough to see Shiro one last time, he'd lost Kolivan's precious family heirloom. Keith hung the poker back by the fire, rubbed his face, and returned to his seat. At least none of the clerks had been watching.

When Thace and Ulaz returned, Keith was still racking his mind for an explanation that didn't make him sound utterly incompetent. He stood at their approach, certain the guilt was all over his face.

Ulaz merely clapped him on the shoulder. "Minor change of plans. The princess wants to discuss our next mission, personally. We'll dine with her this evening, and depart in the morning."

"All three of us?" Keith asked.

Thace glanced down at him, ears flicking in a way that meant he was paying close attention. Keith dropped his gaze.

"Yes," Thace said. "Come, kit. There's a bathhouse not far from our residence."

Ulaz made a soft noise, and Thace grinned. Keith walked between them, but of all the castle residents they passed on their way out, none were Shiro.


	5. Chapter 5

The screams woke Lance, and for a moment he thought he might be back home. All he saw was blue water before him. Every shade from sapphire to azure, glittering like beams of sunlight reaching into the ocean. The expanse of blue rippled, and he followed it back to its source.

A long stream of water poured from the well, forming a long tail that led to powerful haunches, a narrow waist, a massive barrel chest, and sleek front legs. The creature's head was turned away, facing the chaotic courtyard of people shouting, screaming, and calling for the guards. The water-tail curled up, broke free of its source, and twitched at the end.

"What the hell," Lance said, and pushed himself to his feet. Even laying down, the creature's back was three times his height, roughly. All he could see over it were people leaning from the castle's third-story windows, pointing and calling to others to join them. Lance waved, weakly.

The creature twisted around to look at Lance, who froze, one hand in the air.

The face rippled and grew still, muzzle and ears unmistakeable. The lion's eyes glowed gold, opaque, and it gradually lowered its head—and its head alone was taller than Lance by at least another arm's length. It opened its mouth, revealing canines as long as Lance's leg. A watery tongue unrolled.

"Uh, no licking," Lance said.

He wasn't sure if that was a cat thing or a dog thing. He hadn't grown up with either. The lion's eyes narrowed, and Lance gathered his courage and looked at what it presented.

"Oh, hey, thanks!" Lance accepted it without a second thought, startled to find the jarta cool and dry.

The lion pulled back and sat up on its back haunches, staring down at him. Lance leaned back to keep the lion in his sight, and banged his head against the stable's stone wall. The tops of the lion's ears just reached the windows on the fifth floor. Several people screamed and dove out of sight when the lion flicked one ear, splashing water across the wall.

"Back away," a guard yelled, spear pointed at Lance. "This lion is one of Altea's sacred defenders."

Five or six more guards spread their arms, ordering the crowd away from the lion. Lance had his back to the wall, and the lion's back half blocked his exit to the left. The guard blocked his route, to the right. Uncertain, Lance tucked the jarta into his pocket and stayed where he was.

He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do, or if the returned jarta meant anything. Maybe the lion was just being polite. A kind of, hey, you dropped this. It didn't matter. Lance had never seen anything as amazing, as beautiful, as sublime as the blue lion. When she looked away from him, he knew how puppets felt when their strings were cut.

He collapsed back on the bench, a hand to his pounding chest.

The guards cleared a path for a troop of impressive warriors. Each one had a jarta. The first stepped up, commanding the lion to kneel and let them form the pact. The lion looked around the courtyard, yawned, and rumbled her boredom.

Lance laughed, agreeing with her. The nearest guard prodded him with the butt of a spear, ordering him to silence. Lance blocked the spear with an absent-minded backhand and got comfortable on the bench again, pleased Blue sat close enough for him to rest his feet against her paw.

The fourth warrior stepped up, shouting an introduction to the lion. Lance hunched his shoulders and laughed into his collar. Blue's tail swished across the cobblestones. A few shouts went up from somewhere on the lion's other side.

"Make way for her royal highness, the crown princess Allura of Altea," a guard shouted, loud enough to jolt Lance up again. The last four warriors stood back, grim-faced at the delay in their turns.

With everyone pressing to either side, Lance couldn't see her, only hear her footsteps in the sudden silence. Her voice rang out, clear and strong: _Blue guardian of Altea, these warriors have come to present themselves to you_. She kept going, and it sounded a little rote, but she had a musical voice. Lance was rather partial to the Altean accent, now that he'd had a few days of hearing it.

Blue purred, a sound that made Lance's teeth rattle but no one else seemed to notice. Her invitation sounded fine to him, despite the fact that her front paw was taller than him by half a head. Fortunately the water forming her paws and foreleg was solid enough, providing joints for his toes to fit. He clambered up on her paw and straddled the bulk, pleased at the improved vantage point.

"Please do us the courtesy of—" Allura broke off, and the courtyard went completely silent. Her mouth was still open, though, round and pink, matching the pink accents at the shoulder and hip in her white gown. As white as her hair, a wreath of curls that surrounded her face and hung almost to her waist.

Puzzled, Lance looked around, then up. Blue bent her head to look at him in return, and he shrugged. Maybe the princess had forgotten the rest of her lines.

"What are you doing," Allura snapped, pointing at Lance. "Get down from there!"

"Who, me?" Lance looked across the crowd, and the twenty or so scowling warriors. A few had shifted their hands to their swords. He gave the princess a smile. "I'm sitting?"

"Get down!" One of the guards yelled. "The princess gave you an order!"

"Right, sorry." Lance scrambled down from Blue's paw on the other side, but stayed where he could keep a hand on her. He grinned at Allura. "You can order me about anytime, princess."

"Move away," the guard ordered, and two others stepped up beside him, spear-points aimed at Lance's chest.

Lance put his hands up, feeling a lot less flirtatious and a bit more concerned. Blue lowered her head, teeth bared, and roared. Allura—to Lance's immense respect—was the only one who didn't recoil, scream, or cover her head. She stood firm, staring the lion down.

"Hey, Blue, relax," Lance said, patting the lion's paw. "This is one of those fancy ritual things. I hate 'em too, but just go with it. Should be over soon enough."

The lion rumbled, deep in her chest, scooted back, and laid down so Lance's back was to her chest.

"See, she's willing to be reasonable," Lance told Allura, who continued to stare at him, shocked. "She just thinks everything's taking too long. And she really wants you to hurry up, 'cause she remembers a big river below the city. You know how it is, splashing in puddles."

"I can't say I do," Allura said, a bit faintly. "You hear her?"

"Not exactly," Lance said. "She just thinks at me. You mean you can't hear her?" Blue hummed, the low vibration ending with an amused huff. Lance craned his neck to give the lion an annoyed look. "Well, you could've _told_ me you weren't just saying that to everyone."

Allura coughed, politely, a very princess sound, and gestured for the other warriors to fall back. "Your name," she prompted.

"Lance. I'm just visiting. You have a beautiful kingdom, by the way." He smiled, not sure why she looked worried. At least the guards had backed up, though there were three men in the back who were looking at a scroll and studying Lance a little too closely. "Does this mean you're done with the formal stuff, now?"

"I believe we are," Allura said. "Have you made your pact?"

His brain caught up with her words and for a moment he was equally open-mouthed. Blue had come for him? His impulsive oath had been true? It wasn't just her being water, and him being at home in water. She'd come for him, after all. Overwhelmed, Lance dug the jarta out of his jacket pocket. Blue's purr vibrated in his chest.

"Sure, glad someone's entertained around here," he told Blue, who just shook her head and huffed again. Lance juggled the jarta and his short knife, and reopened the cut on his hand. His blood poured over the jarta, and it glowed with an ultramarine light.

Blue lowered herself a bit, then again a bit further when he couldn't quite reach. Someone laughed, and Lance had to grin. He probably looked like an ant compared to Blue, but there was the right spot at the base of her neck. He pushed through the water, finding the place where the jarta rested comfortably, and withdrew his hand.

Her watery fur rippled and withdrew like a wave receding, revealing armored plates, joints, even claws, in a substance like sun-bleached bone. Deep blue remained across her chest and upper back, her haunches, her claws, and across her golden eyes and strong jaw. She was a deadly, solid grace, and she was also impatient to be off.

Lance hauled himself up, climbing up her bone-armor plates to the back of her neck. There was a place there, a hollow in the back of her neck. Just enough for him to stand, with maybe one other person. He leaned over the edge, yelling down at the princess.

"Any chance you want to join us? We'll just be going that way, for a bit." He waved off in a random direction, not actually all that sure.

Allura cupped her hands around her face and shouted back, "I'd love to, but I'm afraid I have other duties."

"Alright, we'll be back once Blue's had her fun." Lance rolled his eyes when Blue pushed her intentions at him for a third time. "Yeah, yeah, let's go, then." He set his hands on the two curves just the right size and grip for holding on, startled when they released. Like reins, he realized, but Blue was already leaping upwards.

She landed lightly on the ramparts, roared again and leapt down from the castle onto the rooftops below. Her claws knocked a few tiles free as she darted from roof to roof. Below her, citizens screamed in the streets, while a few brave souls waved.

Lance laughed and let her run as she pleased.

 

 

 

Hunk stood at the back of the courtyard, grinning as Blue took off from the ramparts. The entire courtyard was in an uproar. Hunk leaned against the wall, enjoying the sight of so many impressive warriors, utterly defeated by a gangly young man in plain clothes.

More worrisome were the three Polluxians descending on the official next to the princess. It was one thing to ignore the cold glances at his Balmeran forehead-sash. He'd grown almost used to that. The Polluxians' angry shouts held his attention more, and eventually, most of the people around him.

The ground rumbled under Hunk's feet. He knelt, placing his palm against the rock. A creature waited within, a being of rock and bone, patiently waiting for a chance to step forth.

"Not yet," Hunk whispered, patting the stone. "Everyone's a little on edge right now. Give it a bit."

The creature purred against Hunk's fingers, and settled down.

"Your highness," the tallest Polluxian warrior called out, "you can't possibly agree a common thief is acceptable as a warrior!"

"Whatever he is, he's a paladin of Altea," Allura replied, her voice carrying. "I won't gainsay the lion's choice."

The woman beside Allura coughed. She was a half-head taller than Allura, with noble Altean's crescent marks on her cheeks. "That's not entirely true, Princess. You can rescind the call—"

"I have no intention of doing so." Allura turned to the Polluxian trio. "If you wish to accuse my paladin of a crime, you must file with the clerks at law. Be aware that as long as the guardian has chosen him, the guardian is the final judge."

"That's ridiculous," the tallest Polluxian said. "You can't be serious that a tanka has the right. It's merely a mechanical beast."

"These are not tanka," Allura said, a bit sharply. "They are aitanka, and they have judged before. They are more than mechanics, more than magic—"

Hunk frowned when the Polluxians shouted back, drowning out Allura's voice. The general raised her voice, too, still arguing for Allura to undo her call. The stone grumbled under Hunk's palm.

"On second thought, come on out," Hunk said, and stepped back.

The ground shuddered, and rocks spilled upwards. Pebbles shook free from the castle, flying to join with the rocks, piece by piece flying together. Milky-yellow feldspar crystals slid across each other, locking into place, abutted by sparkling crystals that could only be citrine quartz. The lion reared on its back legs, casting the courtyard in shadow.

Unlike their reaction to the Blue lion, the crowd didn't stand and point. It scattered madly, which pleased Yellow. The lion came down on all fours, making the castle shudder. Despite its massive bulk and length, the lion managed to turn around, facing Hunk.

"Hold, Yellow guardian of Altea," Allura cried, one hand up. The lion halted, giving Hunk a quick glance before turning its attention to the princess. Allura lowered her hand. "I have warriors here for your—"

The lion huffed. Hunk grinned at Yellow's mental shrug. Yellow took a step forward to stand directly over Allura. The princess gaped up at its bulk, her white dress and hair almost glowing in the lion's shadow.

"Don't sit on the princess," Hunk said, equitably. "If you squash her, we're in trouble."

Yellow opened its mouth, revealing a jarta resting on its citrine-crystal tongue. Hunk was glad Lance had gone first, and given Hunk some idea of how it worked. He took the jarta, hefting it in his hand. Same one he'd lost in the cavern. Go figure.

"Thanks," Hunk told the lion. "But see, the fighting thing? Not really my style."

Allura darted out from under Yellow just before the lion sat. Its low huff had tones of confusion, and its golden eyes looked from Hunk to the princess and back again. Hunk checked around them; maybe fifteen or so people had remained. Sturdy souls except for the way they'd pasted themselves against the courtyard walls to keep from getting crushed.

"What do you mean, not your style?" Allura came forward, pushing hair out of her face. "The guardian has—" Her eyes went wide. "You're an out—I mean—"

"We prefer Balmeran, thank you," Hunk said.

"I see. Today has been all kinds of surprises." She pointed to the jarta in Hunk's hand. "You aren't going to accept it?"

"It's not actually what I came for. I was hoping to petition you to allow my people to settle here. Some quiet, out of the way pocket of your kingdom. We won't make trouble. We want to be left in peace to live our lives, that's all."

"Damn that Daibazaal," Allura muttered. "Would you return to your homeland, if you could?"

"If I woke up tomorrow and knew Zarkon had withdrawn his forces, absolutely." Hunk tossed the jarta in the air and caught it. "As it is, we're homeless. But if this jarta and the ten others I have—if they can be payment for land, I'd like to negotiate."

The lion growled, and even Allura seemed to pick up on that. "But you're turning down being the Yellow Paladin?"

"I was trying to explain to him," Hunk said. "My people don't permit murder."

"It's not murder if it's self-defense," Allura replied.

"Still not my problem. I'm not Altean, so I don't see any reason to fight your wars for you."

"And this would change if you were Altean?"

"It might." Hunk tossed the jarta in the air again, catching it. The lion slid backwards across the courtyard and laid down, its movement the sound of rocks grinding together. "Yeah, I think so," he decided. "I'd be defending my home, then."

Allura looked from him to the lion, and back again. "I can't really make that decision on my own."

"You called up the lions, by yourself." Hunk slanted a look at her. "Or so everyone's saying."

"I had to." Allura squared her shoulders.

"Even if it means being stuck with a thief and an outcast?" Hunk shook his head. "Unless you were gonna take that general's advice..." He'd only learned of Altean ways in the past quarter-moon, but they held similar superstitions to the ones he knew, and ones Lance hinted at. An oath made was life-binding unless forgiven.

"I could." Allura's shoulders sagged. "I would rather you be a good paladin. If you're not, and I have to force the lion to reject you… I wouldn't live out the year."

"Not surprised. Still doesn't change that right now, all I want is for my people to be safe. While you want me to defend _your_ people."

"And if you were our people—" Allura hesitated. "I can't make you citizens without the ministers' approval, but the crown holds acreage in its own right. I could bestow some of that—how many people are we talking about, anyway?"

"Maybe five hundred, tops."

"I think that's doable." Allura nodded, waving over two of the braver guards. "Men, witness this. As of now, Balmerans have a second home in Altea. Their land will be..." She pursed her lips, as if doing quick calculations. "Starting from the north-east corner of Mount Torsus' lake, a league up the mountain, bounded by a league along the river."

The two guards looked at Hunk, askance. A square league was a generous amount, and Hunk nodded, accepting her offer. He stepped forward, glad when Yellow sank down enough for Hunk to push the jarta through the lion's rocky chest. Hunk waved everyone back, giving Yellow room for his transformation.

Bright and milky crystals mixed, swirled, and reformed as bone-armor with yellow streaks across its haunches, chest, and head. Yellow opened his mouth, a tooth-revealing grin. His tail thumped, rattling the ground hard enough to make the guards sway and grab each other to stay upright.

Hunk smiled at the princess. "You've got yourself a Yellow paladin."

 

 

 

Allura scanned the first document and set it on the right side of her desk, for the law clerks to file. The second document was an invitation to the naming event of an Altean noble's firstborn. Coran's notes were stenciled along the bottom.

"Only sixty coins and a dozen roses from the garden?" Allura gave Coran a displeased look and pulled her coat closer. She'd finally moved into the Queen's official offices, and was giving serious thought to rearranging. The fireplace was too far away, and the open windows too close. "That seems rather parsimonious."

"Quite the contrary, princess." Coran sat before her desk, flipping through a stack of missives, making notes on some and setting the others in a stack for her to read. "Protocol requires that we observe those gifts given and return within reason. The safest course is to return exactly the same."

"When has that family give us anything?"

"Your naming day, twenty years ago." Coran hummed over a document for a moment, wet his pencil on his tongue, and made a note in his ever-present calendar.

Allura grimaced. "That's all they gave? That was cheap of them."

"Your highness," Radala said from the door, with a curtsey. "A messenger-bird arrived. Prince Lotor's airship should be here in four days."

"Four? Not two?" Allura set another document on the clerk's stack. "Is he stopping over in Chandra again?"

Radala was almost Coran's age, and capable of keeping a strict face through the worst of Allura's antics. "Yes, princess."

Allura nodded. "Thank you. Oh, and is Martan on-duty?"

"Poltan is, but Captain Martan should be here shortly."

"Please have Poltan send someone to fetch…" Allura checked the papers. An elegant hand, probably one of the temple priests; the actual text was brutally to the point. "Shiro, currently—no, formerly—of the ninth squad of the seventh squadron." Radala dropped a curtsey, and Allura waved the paper at Coran. "How do I find out why this was denied?"

Coran tugged at his mustache, his usual habit when thinking. "He's chattel. His superiors probably consider him valuable enough that they wouldn't want him setting aside arms and entering the temple."

"He set aside one arm in Nalquod, anyway," Allura muttered. How much did one person have to give, before they could walk away from the battlefield?

"Replaced with Olkarion technology. Even better than the original." Coran raised an arm, flexing, and patted his bicep fondly. "Days were, I once had a body like that."

Allura gave him a fond smile and rested her elbows on her desk. From the angle of her window in the upper floors of the outer ward, she could see Yellow on the flat roof of the northwest keep. Blue had taken up position on the roof of the northeast keep, its gaze turned towards the inner ward.

"Princess!" A guard tore in and dropped to one knee. "The Green Lion has appeared in the upper garden!"

Allura came to her feet immediately, running for the door, telling Poltan to have Shiro wait for her, and Coran to go on with his work. Then she gathered up her skirts in her arms and ran through the castle. She hadn't guessed either of the previous paladins, but this one, she'd felt it. She was certain.

She clattered down the broad stone steps from the passage into the great hall, dashed past a group of excited servants, and nearly banged into the doorframe when she couldn't make the turn fast enough. She regained her feet and sprinted through the passage to the southeast tower. Up another flight, scattering servants in her wake, her attendant's shouts far behind. She'd reached the inner ward before she remembered time to drop her skirts, smooth back her hair, and take a deep breath. Calmer, she strode across the packed dirt of the inner yard, through the gates and onto the gardens that formed a massive natural balcony above the east barbican.

The guard was ready, shouting out her arrival for everyone. About twenty warriors were clustered around the ivy-covered walls of the castle's eastern face. They turned as one, dipping their heads, fist to their chests. There was no sign of the Green lion.

"I was told the lion had shown itself," she said, looking around for one of the ministers.

"Yes," a Galran warrior said, and his ears were low, a sure sign of his disappointment. "It pushed itself right out of the ivy there."

Allura frowned at her crushed rose bushes, and the claw marks in the flowerbeds, lovingly attended by generations of gardeners.

"And then it just launched itself off, and was gone," another warrior said. "Went that way."

"East? What's east?" Allura asked. The mountains, then Vakar to the southeast, Chandra to the northeast. "But I thought—" She looked around, finding the noble at the back. He stepped forward when she beckoned. "I don't understand. The lion didn't choose you?"

"Me?" His eyes went wide. "It took my jarta, but the minister said that didn't matter."

"It doesn't?" Allura felt as foolish as the poor nobleman looked. "But I thought—"

"Princess." A voice like a frog, and about as tall as one, Minister Donar had been the minister of rites since Allura was a child. He pushed his way through the crowd, huffing when the warriors didn't move immediately. "If you'd stopped to ask advice before acting so rashly, we could have told you. Any jarta will do. You could have taken five from the castle's stores and placed them, yourself."

"But everyone showed up with their own," Allura said, annoyed at the little man's impertinence. She hadn't acted rashly. Reports had come in that Daibazaal was mustering again. She had no intention of being ill-prepared.

"The castle hasn't always had enough." Donar pulled himself up to his full height, barely topping Allura's shoulder. "It's considered courtesy to bring one as offering, in case. But not necessary. The lion will deliver the jarta to the one they've chosen."

"I'll inform my great-grandmother that her personal experience was outweighed by your good counsel, then," she replied, coldly. "I suppose this means we must wait until the guardian returns."

"Maybe it's just gone to play, like the Blue lion did," someone said in the crowd.

"More like get into trouble. Oriande has changed much in a hundred years, and that guardian was always the most inquisitive." Donar said it like it was the worst fault a guardian could have, but the thought made Allura smile.

"Very well. Inform me when it returns." She swept out, returning at a considerably slower pace than she'd left. Her attendants met her at the bottom of the southwest tower's stairs.

"Princess?" Radala had a hand to her heaving chest. "Is there news?"

"Only that the third guardian has run off on its own," Allura said. "I'm heading back to the Lesser Hall."

"To meet with that—" Radala pressed her lips together at a sharp glance from Allura.

At the antechamber, Allura relayed the disappointing news to her personal guard. Coran had taken his paperwork and headed to his own office, a floor below, to answer correspondence. She deliberated sending for him, and decided against it. She needed to do this on her own.

The guards waited in her office, flanking a man dressed in somber shades of faded black. The trio stood in the center of the room, facing the low dais and the wide table littered with stacks of papers and scrolls. Her first impression of the man was stillness. The guards shifted their feet, looked around, but the man stood with his back to her, feet planted, arms crossed. Black boots, black leggings cut close enough to show the curve of his thighs, leading into slender hips. Broad shoulders, the muscles in his arms visible beneath the black rough-spun tunic.

Unremarkable compared to most soldiers, but for the short hair, almost shaved at the nape. A visible mark of low status, yet another contrast to the guard's short ponytails, or the longer hair of any noble. As if the crude material of his clothes or their ill-fit wasn't sign enough—or the silver band around his neck.

Allura glanced over her shoulder, puzzled that she hadn't been announced. Martan stepped forward. A handful of years older than her, he'd been a playmate before entering the guard, to return as her captain. He gave her a cheeky wink and cleared his throat.

The two guards spun, each bending a knee in unison. Shiro was not so quick to react, His guards lunged upwards, hauling him off-balance and down. His knees hit the wooden boards with a solid thunk. One guard caught Shiro by the neck, forcing his face downwards, nose almost to the floor.

"This is our crown princess," the other guard growled. "You aren't worth—"

"Stop," Allura said. "Remove your hands from that man."

"Princess?" Both guards froze, giving her baffled looks.

"I will not repeat myself." She'd kept her dignity through the long and arduous jarta-presentation ceremony. She'd stood tall against angry Polluxians determined to slander the new Blue Paladin. She'd held her tongue as disapproving ministers lectured her on the heresy of a Balmeran becoming a guardian. As soon as word spread that a third guardian had gone off on its own, more ministers would descend upon her.

One by one, she was doing something her parents had never achieved: uniting the ministers. Unfortunately, they were uniting against her—and she could feel their relentless disapprobation as though it were a hand against her neck, too. She took a seat by the fireplace, facing the door, and dismissed the guards with a wave. Martan took up position by the half-closed door, and lowered his gaze. A pretense at privacy, but it was often all she had.

"Sit," she told Shiro, pointing to the simpler chair, opposite. "Martan, tell Radala we'll have tea."

Shiro hesitated visibly, then sat, hands on his thighs. One hand sun-golden flesh, the other silver-chased metal. He'd trimmed his tunic sleeve and tucked it within the top edge of the metal casing. With the horizontal scar across his nose and a messy white forelock at his brow, he was somehow intimidating because of his flaws, not despite them.

"You submitted a petition," Allura said, after the silence had stretched too far. "I wanted to speak with you, first."

"There's nothing to say." For a soldier, his voice was strangely quiet. Low-pitched but not deep. "Only yes or no."

"You have been granted rank, despite your status—" Allura had learned young the need to prepare her words in advance, but the slight line between Shiro's brows had her rethinking her words. "It's not common for a soldier to request entrance to the temple."

The firelight cast shadows across his face, hooding his eyes.

"Princess," Radala said, from the door.

A parade of attendants brought a low table, a tray with the teapot and two mugs, a bowl of honey. Allura waited until the parade had come and gone, acutely aware of Shiro's gaze on her, asking a question with only the curl of his brow. She picked up her cup, already blended with a drop of honey, the way she liked it. Allura gave Shiro's untouched mug a pointed look, waiting until he picked it up.

"It's—" It was the first thing he'd said, unprompted, and he cut it off. But his frown at the cup in his hand made his meaning clear. He hadn't expected a simple metal cup, banded by a thick circle of carved wood.

Allura choked on her laugh, a little embarrassed. "It's my personal tea set. I was rambunctious as a child. This was my father's solution to my mother's distress over yet another broken cup. Or plate, I can't recall now."

"King Alfor," Shiro said.

"Yes." Allura hadn't expected him to raise the topic she'd planned to steer towards, but she'd take it. "You knew my father."

"I did." Shiro glanced over the cup's rim at her, wary.

Impulsively, she asked, "What was your impression?"

Shiro lowered the cup, for once breaking his fixed gaze to stare into the cup's glittering depth.

"Speak freely," she urged. "It's only us."

"You would like me to say your father was a good king, and a good man," Shiro said. "I'm sure he loved you dearly. But he had no love for me, nor me for him."

Allura swallowed her dismay and prodded for more. "He brought you—"

"No," Shiro said, the rasp leaving his voice, a harder tone beneath. It wasn't rancor; it felt colder than that. "He bought me. Like a farm animal. Or… a tea set."

Yes, that was how it worked, in Altea, rendering it less an insult and more a statement of fact. Yet for a moment she felt an acute wrongness—no, it was simply his tone, not his meaning. It had to be. She pushed that thought away.

This wasn't even a conversation she'd be having, had her father—and then her mother—followed Altean royal traditions. A monarch's death meant release for the monarch's personal chattel. Once that release had been to be buried alive with the monarch's body. Now, in Altea's more modern age, it meant manumission. Except for Shiro.

"Do you realize?" Allura asked, probing. "You're the first in four generations who wasn't freed upon a monarch's death. Why?"

"I don't know," he said. "And I don't care." 

Behind him, Martan stiffened. Allura shot him a warning look; she had no doubt Shiro did know, and did care. Allura leaned forward, and Shiro averted his gaze. Against his stillness, that single movement was nearly a physical side-step, evading her lunge.

"My petition is to be removed from battle. I need only a yes or no." Shiro's mouth twisted, too rueful to be a true smile. "For myself, I would prefer the answer be yes."

"The temple." Allura sat back, grimacing. "My parents sent you so many places, you must've seen so many things. Promoted to dekan despite your status. You carried a sword, piloted a tanka, commanded soldiers—"

"I went to war, as ordered, and I killed, as ordered."

"Yes, but the temple's… it's cold and drafty. And boring! All you'd do all day is pray to the five gods."

"I'm pretty sure the priests aren't expected to actually kill the five gods." That was definitely a smile, however fast it flashed across his face. Too quickly, open weariness replaced it. "I'm tired of the battlefield."

Something didn't fit. "The go-betweens gave me the Olkarion report on your health. The Olkari determined that despite your imprisonment, you must have found a way to maintain your strength. Daily exercises, perhaps."

Shiro bent forward and picked up his cup with a deliberate slowness. He swirled the tea before taking a swallow. Then another. Waiting her out.

"Why do that? Why not—I don't know—" She waved a hand, uncertain of the right word.

"Surrender?"

"I was thinking capitulate, but yes. Why not?"

"Too stubborn." His mouth quirked. "It's a failing."

"Seems like it kept you alive."

Shiro shrugged one shoulder, a fraction.

"Who are you," Allura burst out. "My father had forty other chattel. Plenty with far more experience, more knowledge. And you were... fourteen? Why release the rest and keep only you—"

Shiro's brows shot up.

"Uhm," Allura mumbled, knowing her ears were hot. She hadn't meant to outright insult him.

A line had formed between his wrinkled brows, as though he were considering her words. He refilled his cup and set the teapot back down, turning it so the handle faced her. Not pouring, nor offering, yet a thoughtful gesture.

"It's simply—I have too many questions." Allura sensed truth in her intuition, as clear as the knell from the Green lion's jarta. "After all you've seen, you had to know Galran beliefs, yet you said nothing. Or that the Olkarion offer refuge to any runaway chattel..."

Shiro studied his cup. His stillness had become tension: in the line of his shoulders, the muscle in his jaw, the whiteness in his knuckles.

"Why come back, if all you want is the temple? What kind of person—"

"Someone who values life," Shiro said. "Enough that I won't be the reason for death unless I have no choice."

Stung, she snapped, "Who doesn't value life? That's—"

"You don't."

She stared, open-mouthed.

"You have… thirty chattel, gifts from your parents. From the nobles." There was no mistaking the heat in Shiro's voice, or the growl in his tone. "You and your people have reduced living beings to possessions. Their lives and deaths will be on your head. Do you care?"

"I was raised to treat _everyone_ with integrity, unlike—"

"But not enough integrity to free them. Princess, either grant my petition or deny it."

"Not without good reason. You are too skilled as a warrior, and if our allies fall, Altea will be next. I cannot release you now, not when we have need of everyone who can fight."

"Including you?"

"It has nothing to do with me—"

"Why not? Isn't that what you do? Agree to send people to their deaths on distant battlefields, for the sake of Altean trade?"

"That's not—" She cut off that line of argument. She'd lose it, because he was right. She needed to find a different approach.

She was used to nobles who'd turn their emotions on and off as the situation required, expression to absence and back again. Shiro felt muted in contrast, but her impression of stoicism had been wrong. He was steadfast. Coran's advice—as always—sprang to mind. She would never hammer her way past Shiro's guard, but perhaps if she let down her own, he might reciprocate.

"My father often had diplomatic visits, but it was all work, no time for buying gifts." Allura caught the poker from its hook and prodded at the burning log, anything to avoid Shiro's intense observation. "And then one trip, he came home with you. Not a word to explain. Honestly, I expected you to become one of my playmates."

She paused in jabbing at the fire to look up. Shiro's manifest astonishment was the strongest emotion he'd shown, yet. He pulled back, uncomfortable. Allura sighed, swirling the poker-end through the coals.

"Instead, you were assigned to the barracks. Just another chattel-soldier, but somehow important enough that Father explicitly decreed my mother would inherit you. And after her, me."

She hung the poker back in place, wiping soot from her hands. Mother's decreed had only repeated Father's words: Shiro was crucial for Altea's continued peace. The specific phrasing reminded Allura more of passing along a lucky charm.

"Your bondage-record is sealed," she continued. "I have no access until my coronation. Two years from now, if you hadn't heard. What I've told you is all I know about you—"

"Princess." Shiro's tone was dry, but patient. "There's really nothing else to know."

"There's _plenty_ to know. Why did my father bring you here, only to keep you as far away from his household as possible, but close enough to watch? Why did my mother work so hard to capture a Daibazaal spy of enough value, solely for leverage to arrange your safe return?"

Something in her words had struck true, but Shiro's reactions were too subtle to know where to press. Amusement, frustration, surprise, chagrin, or none of those and something else. Not for the first time she wished humans had ears like normal people; it took a superb actor to hold their ears steady and hide their true emotions.

"I want to _understand_ ," Allura said, frustrated. "What secret did you share with my parents? How did you know them, that I didn't? Why can't you tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell." His downcast gaze and the slope of his shoulders belied his firm tone.

"I disagree. You weren't born as chattel, that's obvious. You clearly find the concept abhorrent, but it's like you won't do anything to get away. In fact—" She paused, considered the line between his brows, and knew she was right. "I think you're asking for the temple because it's an even stronger cage."

There was no doubt, that time. Shiro's eyes widened. The cup rattled in his hands and abruptly stilled.

"Please, tell me," she coaxed. "What must I do, for you to speak?"

He had to have a price. Everyone did; some prices were simply more explicit than others.

Shiro gave a slight shake, and straightened up, looking her in the eye. "Free Altea's slaves," he said.

Allura sighed. She'd had a feeling that was coming. "I'm sorry. That's a decision the ministers would have to make. It's not within my power."

"At least you're more honest than your father," Shiro murmured.

By the door, Martan scowled. He'd adored her father almost as much as Coran, but Allura was too pleased at the breakthrough—and intrigued—to take offense. Father had prized a person's word above all else. Was Shiro the exception to everything?

Shiro rolled his shoulders, a half-hearted shrug. He stared down at the cup, rather than meet her gaze. "He promised, but if I asked, it was never the right time. There was always some reason he had to put it off. Some matter of greater import."

"Did you…" Allura swallowed hard. She had to know. "Did you ever ask my mother?"

"Once."

Allura waited. Shiro looked up, head cocked, expression sorrowful. Allura couldn't shake the sense his sympathy was for her, not himself.

"She laughed," he said, flatly. "She said it'd be Altea's downfall, an entire population of infants, lost without their parents. She saw the enslaved as inferior, and their enslavement as proof."

Horrified, Allura gripped her skirts until her heartbeat calmed. Mother had never been close with the family's chattel, but Allura had never dreamed her mother would be that cruel. Unless Shiro lied, but why? If he wanted to curry her favor, insults were hardly a wise means.

"I suppose you never raised the question again," she said, ashamed.

"No." Shiro's lips twisted, too wry, too inward, to be a true smile. "That was the day after her coronation. We never spoke again."

Eight years, then. Had he languished in that dark hole of a Daibazaal prison, convinced Mother wouldn't bother to free him? So many questions, and she knew her answer.

"In the upcoming moons, I will need every skilled war-leader," Allura declared. "I can spare no one, and that includes you—but I want those answers more. Which do _you_ want more: to avoid the battlefield, or to protect my parents' secrets?"

The room had grown darker, as the fire subsided. Her other appointments waited, but Allura held her ground, and Shiro's dark gaze. She couldn't tell if he was considering her words, or memorizing her face.

"Martan, have the guards escort Shiro back to his level. A quarter-moon," she added, as Shiro stood. "Make your choice, and that will decide mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I keep forgetting to add this: feel free to say hello on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sol1056). I mostly post meta and analysis focused on writing/storytelling.


	6. Chapter 6

Pidge hopped off the back of the cart when she saw the sign: _Chandra, 367.5 miles_. It struck her as suspiciously exact, but maybe there were magi who specialized in that, too. The cart trundled off, and in another mile, the driver would come out of his pleasant daydream, none the wiser that he'd had someone catching a ride.

The road was mostly level, running along the mountain ridge rather than over it. The trees shot straight up, taller and straighter than the highest buildings in Griezian Sur. She almost missed the city's noise. Here it was scattered birdsong, the wind in the leaves far overhead, and her footfalls soft on the layers of matted, winter-damp leaves.

She'd made her way to Altea by hopping from cart-ride to cart-ride. Unless someone came along soon, this would be the first stretch of actually walking. Pidge halted, ears attuned for any chance of oxen lowing or behemoths braying. Nothing but birds and some critters rustling in the underbrush. She adjusted the pack over her shoulder and started walking. The road climbed steadily upwards for a long meandering stretch, curled around a bend, and dipped as it wove along the mountain side.

Somewhere far off, a tremendous boom, loud enough to rattle the tree branches and startle birds into flight. The sound echoed off the mountains and along the valley. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good, and she wanted to be farther away from it. She quickened her steps, looking around anxiously. A few times she swung around to walk backwards, but nothing moved.

Even the birds were quiet. The breeze had stopped, and the hair stood up on the back of her neck.

The ground shivered. Pidge hopped to the side, checking where she'd stood. The ground looked solid enough. Her mind working overtime, probably. She hefted her pack, walking faster. She had to put her head down and focus on the ground, making sure she didn't trip. Too many patches of wet leaves and hidden rocks.

At the top of a short rise she stopped, panting, and held her breath long enough to listen. The ground shook, again, and she realized with growing horror that the tiny vibrations were regular. It wasn't like wheels of a cart. It was footsteps. Her elder brother's idea of bedtime stories floated through her head. Of taqqar, nasty spitting lizards that could climb trees. Or pylami, dogs that walked on two legs and laughed like people. Or lokassa, black as night with eyes as big as teacups—

Just up the trail, a large rock outcropping caught her eye. A big boulder with a flat top. Pidge bolted for it, skidding down the mountain in the wet leaves. She clambered down and around, pleased to find a small dry spot beneath the boulder, and between two more boulders holding up the top. A tiny natural pocket, just the size she needed.

She slid backwards until her back was against rock, set her bag beside her, and began weaving casts as fast as her fingers could move. She'd limited any attacks to one direction. According to Grandfather's stories, she just had to hit back first, hard. Scare off the creature before it got the idea she'd make a good meal.

What she couldn't slow down was her mind, though she knew taqqar weren't native to Altea, and lokassa had been hunted to extinction. Pidge kept weaving, every part of her attuned to the slow, regular, pounding. Just her luck to see the first lokassa in however many generations.

She racked her brains for anything she could use as defense. The only thing she could remember was the random trivia that lokassa were beloved of Nassax, the messenger of the gods. Maybe a prayer to Nassax wouldn't hurt. Pidge raised a hand from her cloak-hem, forming the prayer symbol with her fingers and whispering under her breath. Her other hand continued to weave casts: blur, stench, heat, ignore.

The pounding stopped as Pidge ended the third verse of the prayer. A single rock went tumbling down the mountain, about the size of Pidge's fist. She pushed herself farther back into the crevice, and readed her casts.

The rock over her head shook, hard.

Pidge clapped her hands over her mouth to hold back a scream. She counted to three, and somehow forced her eyes open.

The view hadn't changed. A long slope falling away from her hiding-hole, tall trees throwing dappled shade, and the leaf-covered ground. No sound from above, or anywhere. Only the rush of her heart pounding in her ears. A pebble knocked loose to skitter across the rocks and land in the leaves.

Pidge held still, and counted to twenty.

Still silence.

She frowned and started over, counting to thirty.

Much more of the silence, and the boredom was going to put her to sleep. Pidge tapped her fingers on her raised knees, and considered counting again. How long would wild beasts hang around, anyway?

She peeked out, checking left and right. All the matted dead leaves looked the same. No way to tell if anything had gone past. Pidge caught hold of her pack and edged carefully from her hiding spot.

Somewhere far off, a bird sang, and Pidge brightened. Maybe Altea just had shaky ground. She'd never thought herself prone to flights of imagination, but who knew what altitude could do to a person. Pidge stood up, brushing the dirt off the seat of her pants, and turned around to figure out her best path back up to the road.

A massive green bush perched on top of the boulder.

Pidge froze. An ivy bush the size of a house, and the ivy was moving. Not shaking from a breeze—there was no breeze, anyway—but slithering. Sliding over itself, tendrils reaching out and curling up and sliding away again.

The bush didn't quite fit, either, spilling off the sides. The bush was perhaps half the height of the trees around it, in a roughly triangular shape. Pidge couldn't stop her head from the rough calculations, guessing the bush at maybe forty to fifty sticks in height. The bush bent forward over the edge of the rock. Massive golden eyes looked out from the ivy.

Pidge screamed and threw her pack at it.

Her foot slipped on the wet leaves and she went down, hard. She slid backwards, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to catch the ground. She plummeted over a slight drop, hit the ground with a shriek, and tumbled sideways down the mountainside.

Over and over until she lost all sense of up and down. She hit a bump, rolled over almost in midair, landed again, slid more, rolled again. Down and down.

Pidge slammed to a stop against something soft and scratchy. She couldn't move for a moment, too shaken. She lay face-down, arms under her. With a groan, she raised her head, spit leaves out of her mouth, and cautiously wriggled her toes. Nothing seemed to be broken.

The bush had followed her, stopped her fall, and cushioned it. Pidge came up on her elbows, following the wriggling ivy up to the top of the bush. Its great golden eyes stared at her almost pensively. It wasn't a triangle. She lay with something like a huge paw-shaped limb, large enough to reach from her shoulders to her knees.

She crawled out from under it, scrambling backwards, head back to study the ivy creature. Its head was almost cat-shaped. A muzzle, two ears, the eyes tilted up at the corners. No pupils, only a golden glow where eyes would be.

The ivy creature opened its mouth and dropped Pidge's pack on her head.

"Hey!" Pidge lost her balance again, and slid right into the creature's paw. The ivy-lion—it had to be a lion, with that shape—made a delighted huffing sound. "That is _not_ funny."

It purred loudly and crouched.

"Oh, sure, _you_ think it's a game." Pidge picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulder. "I don't know what you are—" She halted, her mind sorting itself out after being thoroughly rattled. "A vagary? Oh, _tell_ me you're not a vagary."

Of all the things to hunt her down. She wouldn't put it past the sentinels to think it hysterical to capture her in the most humiliating way possible: with an overgrown child's amusement.

The lion opened her mouth again. Pidge dropped her pack and threw her arms over her head. A net, a cast, something would fall, and she had nowhere to run. She cursed her luck.

Something hard popped her in the forearm and dropped into the leaves at her feet. Pidge squawked at the blow and lowered her arms, rubbing her forearm.

A round gray stone lay at her feet.

"That's not mine," Pidge said.

The lion swished her ivy tail, sending leaves everywhere. Pidge put up her hands, warding it off.

"Don't even!" She held position, waiting, and the lion rumbled its disappointment. One hand still out, Pidge picked up the jarta, trying to keep one eye on the lion and the other on the jarta. "You brought me that guy's stone?"

Not a vagary, at least. Pidge hadn't seen a single magi anywhere in Oriande, or at least, none out on the streets. And no advertisements for any, either. Unless…

"Hey, that family didn't hire someone to create you, to find me, right?" She held up the stone. "I gave it back to them. You can't accuse me of—"

The lion growled, swished her tail, and yawned. Then she backed up, ivy-claws digging into the mountain's soil. Green laid down, forelegs on either side of Pidge. With a series of growls, huffs, and an odd chuffing sound, she explained what Pidge needed to do.

"Great, but I'm barely five sticks," Pidge said, raising the stone over her head as far as she could reach. "Not gonna happen."

The lion exhaled and flopped over on her side, chin up to expose her neck. Her tail thumped once.

"Fine, I put the stupid rock in its place." Pidge edged forward, brandishing the jarta before her. "Then you go back to wherever."

The ivy rustled, pulling back to reveal the spot.

"Here goes nothing." Pidge shoved the jarta in.

 

 

 

Keith followed Thace and Ulaz up the broad steps and into the castle forecourt. The sun had dropped below the rooftops, casting most of the square in long shadows. Five-story buildings in shades of yellow plaster and red brick loomed over the square. People milled about, some shopping, some heading for the barbican while others returned.

As they had the evening before, Thace and Ulaz both wore wide pauldrons marking them as emissaries of the Marmora. They walked hooded but unmasked through the crowd, and Keith tried not to feel grumpy at the fact that crowds always parted for full-Galra. Thace and Ulaz towered over almost everyone, except a few Kythrans in the crowd.

"There's a lot more people tonight," Keith said, half to himself. The night before, the princess had welcomed the hundred or so guests, given a pretty speech, and departed. Something about purifying before the five gods.

"Tonight is the last time the crown princess will receive in her current role." Ulaz watched people spilling from the largest building to their right, its broad wooden doors propped open. "Once all five guardians have answered, she'll be coronated."

Thace's ears flicked in amusement, and he looked neither left nor right, focused on the tower ahead. Keith tried to look in both directions at once and almost tripped over a seam between the slate tiles under his feet.

"And then she's queen?" Keith asked. Altea seemed to make everything a hundred times more complicated.

"First, there's the recension, in which the ministers confirm the next monarch's qualifications." Ulaz grunted, mild disapproval. "It's a more elaborate version of how we assess potential successors."

"And then she's—"

"No, then there's a ceremony in which she's crowned by the ministers—" Ulaz glanced down at Keith, forestalling Keith's next question. "And then she's enthroned before the public, and only then will she be Queen of Altea."

Keith made a face.

"You could say we do both at once, when our leaders bequeath their badge of office to a successor."

"This is new," Thace said, quietly. "Why the sudden interest in Altean ways?"

"No reason." Keith kept his head down. "Just thinking it's good to know, for when we come back."

"I suppose we might be back at some point." Ulaz' tone was offhand. His attention was mostly on the crowd, now that he'd concluded his teaching.

Keith tried to sound just as casual. "We won't come back for the coronation?"

"Is there a reason we should?" Thace asked.

"Maybe?" Keith followed his instructors up the steps to the barbican, eyes on his feet. Thace didn't reply, and Keith sighed. "Or maybe not."

Like their last visit, guards were posted before and after the gate-passage, watching but not stopping anyone. Just inside the gate, people diverged to go around an elaborate five-sided stack taller than Thace. A ladder leaned against the side, a slave at the top arranging the layers. It seemed like a stupid place to put a pile of logs, so close to the entrance.

"They're expecting the fourth guardian soon." Ulaz tilted his head back, scanning the castle's ramparts. "Strange, only two guardians. I heard the fourth won't arrive until the third has—"

Someone whooped, far off, a child's high-pitched cry of excitement. A lion landed in the courtyard, high-stepping sideways to avoid crushing anyone. Thace put an arm across Keith's chest, pulling him back behind Thace. People ran, hands over their heads, as the lion turned in a circle. Its tail whipped back and forth, the green-tinted bone armor smacking into the castle walls.

"That would be the third guardian," Ulaz said, unperturbed. "The Green Lion."

A young girl with bright copper hair stood or sat on the lion's neck, reins in her hands. If she was guiding the lion's movements, she had no care for the crowd's reaction. The lion snapped its jaws above people's heads, its glowing eyes almost smug when its victims panicked and scattered. It slapped a paw down on the cobblestones right behind two fleeing guards, and shook its head when both dropped to their knees, cowering.

Ulaz sighed. "It seems not all paladins are chosen for their maturity."

Keith hid the smile. He doubted he'd do the same, in the girl's place, especially if Thace or Ulaz—or worse, his foster-grandfather—were watching. He'd wish he could, though.

"Halt," a woman shouted, and the lion paused, paw raised in mid-air. "Guardian, behave yourself." The princess leaned out from a window, high up in the tower to Keith's right. She pointed at the lion, expression fierce. "Stay there. I'll be right down."

From its perch high above on one of the other towers, the Yellow Lion gave a woofing roar, a cheerful sound. The Blue Lion's rumbling hum felt like agreement. The girl leaned back, checking out the two lions overhead, then saying something to her own. The Green lion snorted loudly and laid down.

Keith considered his options. The guardians made a great distraction, and maybe his only chance all evening. A place as wealthy as Altea would never miss a single jarta. Shiro would know where jarta would be stored, and hopefully Kolivan wouldn't know the difference, anyway.

Keith took a step to the right, and another. Thace's hand landed on the back of Keith's gorget, dragging Keith close again. Thace squeezed Keith's shoulder and let go. There was no mistaking his meaning.

"Guards of Altea!" A man's imperious shout echoed off the courtyard walls. "We demand your assistance in capturing that child, in the name of the High Council of Vakar!"

Keith scowled when Thace and Ulaz moved closer, blocking his view. He looked around, then behind him. A stone bench sat along the wall. Keith hopped up on it, now a half-head taller than his instructors.

The girl made a motion, cut off, like she'd just realized she wore no head-covering. She pulled on the lion's reins. The Green Lion sat up, its head swiveling around to the man with his hand raised in the air.

Vakarians could be mistaken for Altean, but they lacked cheek-marks, and their skin tended to be paler, their hair brighter. The Vakarian style of dress was even more distinctive, loose cropped tunics with intricate embroidery on the sleeves and hem. Their short tunics billowed with every movement, revealing simpler fitted tunics beneath, long enough to tuck into their breeches.

Unlike the girl, the three Vakarians wore gorgets of stiffened crimson fabric, embroidered and banded in scarlet. Keith counted six more Vakarians spread out around the lion, all with similar gorgets. They'd surrounded the lion on all sides. He bent down, whispering a quick report in Thace's ear.

"Sentinels," Thace murmured. "They execute the High Council's judgment in cases of high crimes. In Vakar, those are…" He trailed off, frowning.

"Insubordination, insurrection, treason, tax evasion, or impersonation as a member of the High Council," Ulaz supplied.

"She's a _kid_." Keith studied the girl. She looked maybe four years younger than him, at most.

Across the courtyard, the Vakarian leader shouted again for the castle guards to force the lion to eject the girl from its back. For their part, the guards eyed the lion, then the Vakarian, clearly uncertain which was the biggest threat.

"Stop," the princess called out, and the crowd parted to let her through. She'd bound her white hair up, and wore a simple uniform like she'd come from a sparring bout. "You have no command over my soldiers."

"This child is wanted for treason against the High Council," the lead Vakarian replied.

The Green Lion growled, low in its throat. One of the sentinels on the lion's far side raised a hand, fingers flicking, and the girl cried out. Green whipped around, teeth bared, diving its head into the crowd, aiming for the Vakarian. People screamed, clawing each other in panic.

The princess shouted a command. The lion froze, the sentinel's head and torso caught in its jaws. The copper-haired girl pulled frantically on the reins, but the lion didn't move.

"That is _enough_." Allura flicked her wrist, a kind of casual backhand sweep.

Within heartbeats, the courtyard was empty of all servants, slaves, and household staff. Guards appeared from every doorway, pushing guests back out the gate-passage or towards the entrance to the main hall. A guard approached Thace, who stared down at the man. Ulaz didn't seem to even notice the one attempting to herd him away.

Before the lion, Allura raised a hand and dropped it sharply. The lion narrowed its eyes, growled, and opened its mouth. The Vakarian sentinel fell free, hitting the ground with a solid thud and a loud crack. The lion's mouth had been level with the castle's second-level windows. No surprise the nearest guard yelled for someone to bring a stretcher.

"Your royal highness." The Vakarian leader inclined his head, two fingers to the center of his chest. "My name is Thomas, and I'm the sentinel-in-charge. Two moons ago, House Holt was judged guilty of treason—"

"Thanks to barefaced lies and a fuckload of bribery," the girl yelled.

"—And its members arrested," Thomas continued. "That girl is Katie Holt, alias Pidge, the youngest and the last to be captured."

The girl didn't seem impressed. "How much did your dad get, Tommy? He share any with you?"

"Shut up." Thomas shook a fist at her. "As a convicted criminal, you have no right—"

"You wanna say that to my lion?" The girl yanked hard on the reins, and Green tilted her head, eyes flashing a clear warning at the Vakarians. "My family's loyal. I'm gonna find out who set us up, and—"

"Not with that lion, you won't." A woman in golden armor stood on Allura's other side. The lion swung its head to study her, and snorted. "Princess Allura, we cannot refuse our oldest allies."

"General Hira," Thace whispered to Keith. "Minister of War, and head of the Altean armies."

"I would never dream of it," Allura said, not even looking the general's way. "This is why I must deny your petition, Thomas of Vakar."

"Thank you, we shall—" Thomas scowled. "What?"

"Allura," Hira snapped. "Don't you dare—"

"You forget yourself, General." Allura raised a hand over her head, and the lion lowered its head, touching its snout to her palm. "This guardian is one of Altea's five truest allies. For six hundred years, the guardians have answered our call. Eleven—now twelve—times they've come to our aid. Can we say the same of Vakar?"

 

 

 

Hunk nodded at Yellow's subvocal growl, set the soup bowl aside, and stood up. A dozen people below, and one girl on a green lion. Hunk had heard enough. He climbed up on the merlons, straddling the crenelle, and stared down at the scene below him.

"Never has a paladin been guilty of disloyalty, either," Hira said. "It's bad enough to chose a child. But we _must_ draw the line at a traitor. You must refuse the lion's selection, princess."

"Hey," Hunk shouted down to the courtyard. "Nope. Not gonna happen."

The twenty or so people remaining, along with the girl on the lion, all turned as one to look up at the towers overhead. Maybe a hundred sticks down the ramparts, Lance hopped up from where he'd been eating between Blue's feet. He settled into a crenelle and swung his legs out over the five-story drop, elbows on his knees.

"What do you think, Blue?" Lance cocked his head, grinned. "Squishing sounds good to me, too."

"Silence," General Hira ordered. "Neither of you have been confirmed as paladins—"

"Sure we have." Hunk thumbed over his shoulder at the Yellow Lion. "Got all the confirmation we need, right here."

"Hey, Green!" Lance waved to get the girl's attention. "Name's Lance. That's Hunk. Which do you prefer, Katie or Pidge?"

"Uh," the girl said. "I've gotten used to Pidge."

"Great. We saved you a spot." Lance pointed across the courtyard, to the tower opposite Yellow. "Make yourself at home."

Pidge pulled the reins and Green rose up with a roar loud enough to shake the log-stack and send three of the Vakarians back a step. The lion crouched and leapt straight up, twisting neatly in midair to land on the tower, facing the courtyard. Hunk whistled. An impressive agility in that compact frame. It'd taken Yellow some hard thinking and careful calculations to make the same leap.

"Your actions will have severe consequences," Thomas warned Allura. "You are breaking a treaty that's lasted two hundred years."

"If anyone would respect the guardians' choices, it should be magi like yourselves," Allura said. "You know the backlash if you defy such magic."

Hunk wasn't keen on killing anyone, but he wasn't going to forget Allura's quiet confession. It wasn't his country—yet—but letting her be forced into rejecting the guardians' choices was as good as standing by while she took her own life. It wasn't a matter of deserving or not. He couldn't hold his head up among his own people if he stood by and did nothing.

Thomas took a step closer, immediately blocked by the spears of two guards. He glared at them, then Allura. "We know better than to let untrained royalty wield such—"

"Watch your tongue," General Hira said. "You must at least recognize that we will require some time to extricate ourselves from this… situation."

Allura's shoulders hunched, hands coming to press against her chest. No one else moved, except for a single Marmora emissary, at the back. A movement Hunk might've missed but for the absolute stillness: the tall Galra unfolded his arms and set one hand casually on the blade at his hip. Hunk cheered up. Nobody as reliable as the Marmora, and that gave Hunk the nerve to speak up.

"Wrong answer." Hunk pointed down at Hira. "Not gonna be any extricating anyone."

Hira spun on her heel to shout upwards. "Silence, outcast! You are unfit to be a paladin. Considering your crimes, count yourself lucky if you are merely made chattel."

Yellow growled, and Hunk agreed. His patience was wearing thin, too, but he also knew people of the general's rank didn't make empty threats.

"What crimes?" Allura demanded.

"Theft, extortion, and heresy," Hira said. "We have witnesses who say he used stolen jarta to lure the guardian, then used his position to extort the crown for land."

"Stolen, on whose grounds?" Lance laughed, slapping his knee like he'd made the funniest joke.

"He's Balmeran," Hira said. "Of _course_ he stole it."

Hunk swallowed hard, as a knot formed in his stomach. Extortion and theft were one thing. Most places, heresy was a far worse crime. If even a single law restricted worship outside of Altea's five gods, his beloved Goddess of the Dance would not find a home in Altea, either.

Yellow rumbled. The soothing sound warmed Hunk, but give him pause. The five guardians were avatars of the five gods. Why choose a nonbeliever? Lance had sobered, glaring down at Hira. On the opposite tower, Pidge hopped down from her lion. Hunk rubbed his chin, puzzled. Shouldn't Alteans, born and raised to follow the five gods, make for the best avatars?

"Wow, looks like Altea's just as fucked-up as Vakar, if that's the way you argue your case." Pidge leaned over the parapet, cheek resting on a fist. "Really? That's all you got?"

"Your case is not resolved, either," Hira said.

Allura seemed to be coming out of her momentary freeze. Her shoulders came down, slowly. The princess was trapped between two forces, and that meant more behind those two, pressing on her. Hunk nodded, pleased to see her straightening up. There was serious mettle beneath her pretty facade.

"Guardians, withdraw," Allura said, her voice a whip crack. "Thomas of Vakar, you may file a report with my clerks at law, but you may have no choice but to wait until the Green Lion decides on its own to release its chosen paladin."

The sentinels crossed the courtyard to stand with Thomas, and every single one looked as murderous as Thomas.

"Minister of War." Allura turned to Hira. "You have served the crown long and well. I would not want your career to be cut short under the crown's displeasure."

Hira stepped back, inclining her head.

"Guardians," Allura said, looking up at the three on the tower walls. "I will speak with you once your number is complete. In the meantime, please do behave, and no more dashing about the city."

"Aw, really?" Lance bent forward, elbows on his knees. "How about dashing over it, instead? We were gonna head back down to the river."

"Lance," Hunk said. Everything was calming down. No need to rile them all up again.

"Fine, fine." Lance leaned back, with a lazy wave. "Maybe we'll get lucky and it'll rain."

 

 

 

Keith kept behind Thace and Ulaz, glad the two of them could do the talking and leave him out of it. The social niceties of formal occasions weren't just outside his experience, they were of no interest to him at all. The bonfire in the courtyard had been lit as the sun set, about twenty hopefuls waiting in the courtyard for the fourth guardian's arrival.

The three Marmora had been presented to Allura formally, among what seemed like an endless parade of people. Keith went down on one knee like Thace and Ulaz, keeping his head down while Ulaz answered Allura's questions.

Thanked for their service and dismissed, they withdrew to mingle with the crowd. Thace's glance made clear Keith was to stay close. That meant Keith's task was to listen closely and observe, but he was mostly calculating how he could slip away.

Along the walls, pairs of royal guards flanked narrow windows not much wider than Keith's shoulders, and twice his height. At first partly shuttered against the evening chill, one by one the shutters were thrown open to allow in a slight breeze. Keith spent his time trailing Thace by checking the guards' faces, hoping one might be Shiro. Perhaps that was why he was the first to notice.

The flames had shifted, from a faint glow cast on the courtyard walls, to a raging fire directly outside the window. After a childhood in Yendalia, watchful against summer storms lighting the dry forests—then his adolescent summers on Thaldycon's prairies that burned even easier—he wasn't afraid of fire. But he also didn't take chances with it.

" _Fire_ ," Keith shouted, pointing. "Get away from the windows!"

The guards were slow to move, until flames shot into the great hall, licking up the stone to the rafters above. Someone shrieked, and instantly that side of the great hall was empty. The shutters' dry wood caught, and two resourceful guards ripped them down, tossing them out the window. Others pulled down the tapestry banners along the walls, carrying them out of reach of the fire.

A guard arrived with word the Red Lion had appeared in the courtyard. At first a few people left, then a dozen, then half the attendees, though it was hard to tell who was fleeing the threatening fire and who wanted to see the guardian's selection. Up on the dais, Allura was surrounded by five ministers, all arguing at the same time. Keith took a step to follow the people leaving, and Ulaz caught him by the shoulder.

"It's not our concern. This is an Altean matter." Ulaz jerked his head at the window. "That's not a natural fire, after all."

Keith frowned. No scent of smoke, and now that the shutters were discarded, none of the usual crackling. He could feel the heat, but otherwise, it could've been an illusion. "Does this mean the reception is over?"

"I'd like to stay," Ulaz said to Thace. "If the princess continues to be so controversial, we may need to amend some of our plans."

"Excuse me," a woman said, motioning to Thace. From her blue capelet to the gold baubles in her ears, a noblewoman, and one curious about the process of hiring the Marmora.

Keith stepped back as Ulaz and Thace stepped forward, speaking in low tones with the woman. Another step, and another, until he was almost at the open door at the end of the great hall. A passageway, and a flight up into an anteroom. That had the balcony where he'd heard Shiro's voice calling his name.

It also had a window looking into the courtyard. Keith couldn't resist, but he kept to the shadowed side, looking down at everyone gathered in an orderly line. Unfortunately for them, the guardian wasn't interested. Keith tucked himself into the side of the window, watching.

The Red Lion was a creature of crimson and orange flame, and it stood with its paws against the castle walls, its snout pressed almost against the wall. It growled, low, frustrated and confused, and pushed away to prowl back and forth.

Like the green lion, it was just over forty sticks tall, but it seemed sleeker, longer-legged. Flame curled up and down its body, the only unmoving part its great golden eyes. Its growl became a rumble, almost plaintive, and it raised itself to look into the great hall again. Shouts came from within, echoing, and another set of shutters were thrown into the courtyard, flames licking up them.

Keith leaned his head against the stone, knowing how the lion felt. There was nothing so horrible as wanting someone and not finding them. No one else would ever fill that empty place. It didn't seem right to address Altea's gods, as a stranger, but he could at least whisper a quiet prayer to the Orphan and her brother, the Farseer. Those two helped lost souls. Maybe they could reach out to Altea and offer comfort.

The lion dropped away from the wall again, ignoring the warriors, the officials, even Allura, standing at its feet. It sat on its haunches, tail wrapping around its paws, and turned its face to the sky. It didn't roar. It gave a low, plaintive cry that echoed in Keith's chest like swallowed tears.

Keith stepped away from the window. He still had no idea how he'd explain losing the jarta, and he doubted he'd have a chance to talk to the Yellow Paladin about buying or borrowing a spare. He was halfway across the empty antechamber when shouts rose from outside. He was starting to wonder about the wisdom of Altea, for having destructive guardians appear in such a tight space, given their size.

Something hard hit him in the middle of his back, thumped on the floor, and rolled away.

Slowly Keith turned, almost stumbling backwards at the sight of a single golden eye, surrounded by flame, watching him through the window. The lion pulled back, roared, and three other roars responded. Keith dropped to his knees, flicking his thumb across his palm to release a quintessence bubble. The jarta had rolled across the floor and lodged itself between a chair-leg and the wall.

When Keith stood up, the lion watched him again. It rumbled, hopeful, encouraging.

"This isn't mine," Keith said, and made a face when the lion agreed. "No, I mean it's my foster-grandfather's. I've got to return it to him."

The lion huffed, sparks flaring into the room from its motions. Several landed on the woven carpet.

"Don't!" Keith stomped out the tiny flames. "You need to be careful."

The lion snapped its jaws at him. When Keith didn't move, the lion dropped away from the window with an ill-humored huff. Keith tucked the jarta away and slipped onto the balcony. Not a moment too soon, either: three guards came running in, lanterns in hand.

Keith was already over the balcony, clinging to the railings. He pulled himself up, trying to get purchase with his feet against the wall. It'd been easier to come up than go down, but not impossible. He stretched out one hand, feeling with his fingertips for a hold. His other hand clung to the carved stone railing.

Over his head, the door banged open, a lantern shining across the little balcony.

"Martan, I found him!" The guard ran back inside, shouts floating out through the door he'd left open. "Call the castle watch! Intruder in the queen's office!"

Keith took a breath, let go of the balcony, and lunged for the wall. His fingers dug into the tiny crevice in the castle's stone exterior, and he hung there for a moment, scrabbling to find purchase for his toes. His right hand felt across the stone, seeking a better hold. His right foot slipped, then his left, and the force broke his single hold on the wall.

Keith fell backwards, into the darkness below.


	7. Chapter 7

Allura stared up at the deepening blue sky, milky with clouds. The warriors had dispersed as soon as Red left, uninterested in trying to coax the guardian back; Great-Grandmother's journal had said Red and Green both preferred independent paladins. The Green Lion's paladin had stayed to watch the goings-on from the southwest tower's battlements, cheering when the Red Lion had launched itself from the courtyard to fetch its chosen paladin.

Perhaps a little _too_ independent.

"Princess!" Poltan called, shoving people out of his way. He gave a soldier's bow, abbreviated, fist to his chest. "There's news."

"Report." Allura kept her expression neutral through years of practice, fingers wrapped around her right wrist. Something was terribly wrong.

"Someone ransacked your inner office," Poltan said. "We discovered an intruder, but the person fled over the balcony from the antechamber."

Allura choked on a frustrated laugh, and ended up coughing. "Ah, I see. I presume you've mustered the castle watch."

"Yes, Princess. We'll find the person."

She looked over her shoulder, up at the window to her antechamber. Red had found someone there, someone it desperately wanted. Between the chaos from the guardians' arrivals and the castle open to warriors of all races for the selections, now would be a perfect time for a spy to grow bold. Then again, if Red had chosen that very spy as a paladin, at least General Hira might stop complaining about a common thief piloting the Blue Lion.

Or not. It probably wasn't _thief_ that bothered Hira half so much as _common_.

"Princess," Poltan prompted.

"Was there something else?" Allura gripped her wrist tight, squeezing, as if she could hold back the inevitable. She knew the consequences if she rejected a guardian's choice, but she couldn't recall even a single instance of a paladin doing the same.

First came the guardian's invitation, marked by the sensation of a thread around her wrist or ankle, like a single strand of hair beneath her skin. The thread would tighten incrementally, finally snapping once the paladin accepted the jarta. The swirling energy would converge in the palm of Allura's hand or the bottom of her foot when the paladin anchored the jarta within the guardian, completing the pact.

Poltan continued his report. Allura nodded at appropriate intervals, knowing Martan was capable and didn't really need her oversight. She was too absorbed in puzzling out what she'd seen against the stories her mother had told her. The sensations beneath her skin hadn't matched the paladins actions. Perhaps a paladin wasn't merely a delivery mechanism for the guardian's energy source.

Blue's thread had snapped at acceptance, the energy settling in the arch of Allura's foot at almost the same instance as the anchoring. Yellow's had snapped at anchoring, then progressed steadily but cautiously to the bottom of her other foot. Green's had been dissolute in Allura's palm for nearly an hour. Her best guess was the Green Paladin was prone to second-guessing herself, while Yellow would be steadfast once decided. Compared to those two, Allura had the distinct impression the Blue Paladin had chosen the guardian, not the other way around.

And now Red's… Allura clutched her right hand to her chest. Red's mournful cry still echoed in her heart. The guardian's offering had been accepted; the thread had snapped. But it hadn't gathered in her palm, nor converged. She could feel it beneath her skin, amorphous and uneasy. If the paladin refused, the energy should dissipate. Could a guardian persist—

Allura cried out at a piercing pain in her hand, the shock nearly sending her to her knees. Poltan gaped, decorum holding him back. Someone else caught her. Allura tilted her head back to see the taller of the two Marmora emissaries. He had her by waist, one hand remaining until she got her feet under her.

"I'm fine," Allura said, out of sheer habit. "Thank you—" She searched her memory. "Lord Thace."

"Princess." Thace stepped back, brows raised, giving his smile a warmth she didn't usually see in foreign guests. "Allow me to call your attendants, at least."

"No, it's passed." Allura flexed her hand, marveling at the energy within her palm.

If she was right about what the sensations meant, somehow the paladin had accepted with full loyalty and _then_ anchored the jarta. Whomever this paladin was, their decision would not be easily undone. A lion roared, lower-pitched than Green, with a rumbling note that felt like a threat.

The Red Lion landed in the middle of the courtyard, forelegs spread, braced. The lanterns couldn't hold against the growing darkness. The figure on the lion climbed down, coming across the courtyard towards Allura.

The youngest of the Marmora. Allura frowned when the young man didn't even seem to notice her. He instead faced Thace, head lowered.

"I had to," the young man said.

Thace sighed. "This was an unwise choice."

By Red, or by Keith himself? Allura pressed her lips together. The discussion had the feeling of a family affair.

"I tried to refuse," Keith whispered, staring at the shadows at their feet. "I tried."

The other Marmora—Ulaz—snorted and crossed his arms. He frowned, but something in his demeanor seemed amused.

"He did," Allura said. "I could feel it. The other guardians will listen to a paladin's rejection. Red isn't known for that, I'm afraid."

"That explains much," Ulaz muttered.

Thace threw Ulaz a tolerant look, and told Keith, "I don't know how we'll explain this to your grandfather."

"I'll find a replacement jarta," Keith said. "I know that was a family heirloom, but Red says I can't remove that one and he wouldn't—"

"A rock is not the point," Thace said. "Kolivan is going to be beside himself worrying about you."

Keith's brows crinkled, a mix of disbelief and confusion. Ulaz covered his mouth, eyes crinkling, ears flat against his head. Chagrined, but entertained.

"It's an honor to be chosen as a guardian." Thace pulled Keith close, hugging him. "You'll do us proud, kit."

Keith seemed at a loss, but he accepted the hug awkwardly. "I'll try. Tell Kolivan I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

It was Ulaz' turn to wish Keith well. He spoke too low for Allura to hear. Keith lowered his head, and Ulaz clapped him on the shoulder. Thace faced Allura and bent a knee, a hand to his chest. Ulaz did the same.

"Princess Allura." Thace lowered his head. "We leave our student in your command."

The words came unbidden, and unpracticed, but they felt right. "I will treasure his service, and endeavor in every way to return him to you, unharmed and whole."

The two Marmora placed one hand on the ground, bending over in unison, then stood and departed without looking back. Keith wasn't watching, anyway; his eyes were squeezed shut. Allura exhaled, not sure what to say. Between the glimmer in Thace's eyes and the tilt of Ulaz' ears, those two would have a forlorn homecoming.

"Keith." Allura waited until he raised his head. "Ah, no, you don't have to bow. You're a paladin, now. If you could—" She pointed towards the southeast tower. "That's Red's place, up there. Your quarters are the floor below. I'll send someone up who can help with anything you might need."

"Oh," Keith said.

Allura cast about for some other nicety. She brightened. "I can send someone for your belongings, too."

"No, that's fine."

She wasn't sure whether he meant he could leave his possessions behind, or that he had none. She made a slight gesture towards the lion, urging him on. Once the four guardians were in place, she had one more thing to do, and the circle would be complete.

Metal heels clicked on the cobblestones, the echoes making it sound like a herd of horses clattering through. Four ministers approached; Hira and Donar, trailed by Calsa, the minister of trade, and Tador, the minister of justice. Martan walked alongside, six of the castle watch behind him, spears bristling over their heads.

"I'm sorry, Princess," Martan said, and jerked his head towards Keith. "Take him into custody."

The six watchmen spread out, circling Keith, spear points lowered. Red stepped forward, mouth opening like it planned to repeat the Green Lion's stunt.

"Stop!" Allura put up her hands, one at the lion, the other at the guards. "Stand down!"

The six ignored her, and the lion growled. Allura let her energy spike, and _pushed_. Normally she could manage a solid shove up to ten paces away, and that would be enough to make most people think twice. She wasn't counting on the guardian's energy roiling under her skin. All six were knocked off their feet by the invisible blast. With unbelievable speed, Keith dropped to a crouch, literally ducking under the blast.

Allura waited to make sure they all stayed down, and rounded on Martan. "This is my Red Paladin. How _dare_ you!"

"I am sworn to protect you, princess." He looked unnerved by her display, but somehow he held his ground. "One of my men saw that boy attempting to escape your antechamber by the balcony."

Keith rose to his feet, wary. Red's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Your office has been ransacked," Martan continued. "We believe while the elder Marmora pretended to mingle, they sent this boy to search your office. You cannot forget the Marmora are hired spies and mercenaries. We must question him, Princess."

"You could ask Red," Keith said, startling everyone. "Red saw me from when I entered to when I left."

Martan looked dubious. "A machine can't tell us anything."

Allura studied the Minister of Justice, who'd begun inching back. Allura motioned him forward. "Minister Tador, is there precedent for accepting a guardian as witness?"

"Princess, there's, uh..." Tador nudged Calsa, who pointedly ignored him. Tador sighed. "I can think of at least one case. I'd need to research to provide the details."

"Good, though that'll do for now." Allura considered Keith, who met her gaze, then looked away. When she continued to stare, he glanced back, and away again, eyes wide. He was either the best actor she'd met in a life at court, or hopelessly unable to hide that he was guilty of something.

She walked through the ring of soldiers, and held her hand over her head, focusing her mind on her question. Red huffed, then lowered its snout to press against her palm. Allura closed her eyes. A hundred images and two hundred emotions bombarded her at once. Allura gasped, falling back. Keith put his hands up, ready, but she caught herself and shook out her arm.

"Let's try that again, Red," she instructed the guardian, for the onlookers' benefits. "In order, from the top."

The lion snorted, but dutifully slowed down. Every image was colored by emotions: fear, excitement, hope, devastation, excitement again, frustration, desperation, and a tentative joy. Allura broke away as the lion began to repeat itself, faster each time.

"Are you okay?" Keith asked.

"How do you handle that inside your head," Allura muttered. "I had no idea guardians were that talkative."

"Don't know." Keith smiled at the lion, reaching up to pat it once on the nose. "I think—he's just nervous. He says he's never been asked to speak for a paladin before."

She had no idea how Keith could deduce that from a welter of images and emotion, but set that aside. "According to what the guardian saw, its chosen—"

"His," Keith interrupted. "Red is a he."

"It's a machine powered by a magical core," Minister Donar said. "It's neither male nor—"

Red growled, loudly. Keith crossed his arms, staring down the short man. "Red says he's a _he_. You _will_ respect that."

"Yes, we will." Allura gave Donar a sharp look. "According to Red, he saw Keith leave the Great Hall, and found him opening the door onto the balcony in the antechamber. Red offered the jarta, which Keith dropped. Once Keith had it, he turned around and left through the balcony, anyway." That final word seemed the best way to express the petulance in the lion's version of events.

Martan snorted. "You couldn't go back through the door you'd come? That's almost two-hundred sticks all the way down. You're suicidal—or plain daft."

Keith fidgeted. "I was—no, I mean—I was avoiding the lion."

"But why the balcony?" Allura asked, baffled.

Keith's tone became mulish. "I took nothing that wasn't mine to take."

She had no doubt Keith was hiding something, but he was also too obvious about it. Allura rubbed her temples. A headache and she still had so much to do. "Martan. With all these unfamiliar faces wandering freely in my home, why was there no guard at my office door?"

"We're looking for him," Martan said. "He's one of my most reliable. He wouldn't have let anyone through easily."

"Finding him should be your priority, then." Allura nodded to Keith. "We'll deal with the rest in the morning. Good night, everyone."

She didn't wait for anyone to call her back. The cobblestones shivered under her feet as Red leapt into the sky, landing neatly on the tower. Radala and Allura's other attendants fell in behind her.

"Radala, did anyone waken Coran?" Allura asked.

"Yes, princess," Radala said. "Secretary Coran is in his office, preparing his report on what was touched, moved, or missing."

"Good." Allura led the way up the steps into the hall.

Through the open doors, and she didn't turn west, towards the queen's residence. She turned right, heading for the inner hall. Her attendants whispered behind her, but she didn't explain, and they knew better than to question her right then. At her inner office, Allura surveyed what little remained of any damage. The papers on her desk were misaligned, and two of the smaller banner-tapestries were gone.

"Close the shutters," Allura told Radala. "And then leave me. I do not wish to be disturbed."

Her attendants exchanged worried looks, but curtsied and withdrew. Allura shut the heavy door behind them, considered, and threw the lock. She turned quickly, orienting herself to her mother's instructions. From the fireplace, she rolled up the woven floor-covering until the wide wooden boards were revealed. She counted off the paces, miscounted, started over, and knelt at the spot.

A single knot in the wood marred the perfect expanse. Allura put her thumb on it and pressed, hard. A click came from across the room, and she hurried to the carved blackwood panels covering the eastern wall.

There were cubbyholes here, for the Queen to open to overhear conversations in the antechamber, or the Great Hall itself. The one Allura sought led to none of those places. She felt along the wood, trying three different carved roses before one gave way. She turned the rose, and a piece of the carving opened up like a door. Allura reached in.

There was nothing there. She patted the bottom, the sides, the top. She had to stand on her tiptoes to see into it, and all she got was a noseful of dust. She shut the panel, turned the rose until the lock clicked, and punched the wood in sheer frustration.

Allura kicked the rug back across the floor, standing by the cold fireplace with her hands on her hips. She turned in a circle, racking her brains for anything Mother might've said of moving it somewhere else. Her gaze fell on the rug beneath her feet.

She tilted her head one way, then back again, and ended up moving to her desk and studying the rug from there. The curlicues in the center should lead away, wrap around and… Her breath caught. The design was sideways. Someone had shoved the rug out of the way, and not realized they'd rotated it when they pulled it back into place.

If the thief had seen or taken anything else, it was a lucky extra on top of the real goal: the Black Lion's jarta.

 

 

 

Shiro had long since stopped caring about his pride when it came to walking after a whipping. The only thing that'd ever gotten him was being yanked back for more. He sank down on his cot, teeth gritted against the bone-deep ache.

"Good thing Poltan didn't do it himself," Relvor said. "That man has the heaviest arm I've ever seen."

More like a personal grudge against anyone who upset the princess. Most of the people who did were too far over Poltan's head. Shiro made for a good scapegoat.

"Here, kid." Relvor set a corked bottle beside Shiro. "Anniversary's tonight."

Shiro looked up. "I thought it was two nights from now."

"Not by the calendar in my quarters." Relvor patted Shiro on the head, like he'd been doing since Shiro had first arrived, a stick shorter and a lot scrawnier. "Had to get the cheap stuff, this year. Daibazaal's blocked our trade with Yendalia, so the good stuff was gone. Means nothing's left of your queensday gift."

"Figured," Shiro said, wry. "Thanks for getting it for me." There was never anything left of the gold coin given every year to chattel on queensday. Relvor had always treated any leftover coppers as his payment for the effort. Shiro had long ago stopped begrudging the man for it. He waved once as Relvor left.

The door swung shut, perfectly silent. Looked like someone had decided to fix Shiro's fix, but that could wait until the morning.

Shiro pushed himself to his feet. He had to lean against the wall to cross the room, carefully lowering himself to his knees at the low chest in the corner. Most of his few belongings had been divided up while he was thought dead. Some had been returned: his boots, a second tunic, a summer blanket.

What mattered most hadn't been found. With a long splinter saved for that purpose, Shiro pried out a fine silver chain from between two boards in the chest's side. As gently as he could he worked the oblong pendant out last, the silver almost black. Barely larger than his thumbnail, worn almost smooth, but intact, and still his. He'd longed for it in that darkness, but better it remained here, safe, rather than being taken from him along with everything else.

He put it over his head, tucked it under his shirt, and used the chest to get back to his feet. The more he moved, the more he'd convince himself it meant nothing. While it was the first time in ten years he'd been whipped for disrespecting the royal family, the castle watch prided itself on finding plenty of other reasons.

Shiro pulled the blanket from his bed, wrapping it around him, pinning it closed with a dull brass wire. The finger's length of bitter Marmora root—a silent parting gift from Thace—went into Shiro's belt. He picked up the bottle and slipped from his cell.

He couldn't rely on his usual speed to get through the castle's upper levels. He had to be patient, instead. A step at a time, listening, waiting, before proceeding. The most dangerous was at the top of the stairs from the slave levels. A long passageway lay before him, and from there, the last flight up to the top of the largest tower.

This floor was often half-full, being large guest suites. With the furor over the guardians, most of the guests in residence were either foreign warriors or dignitaries. They wouldn't have the guards' paces memorized. Shiro steeled himself, stepped out of the shadow, and strode the length of the hall with the steady, regular pace of a guard doing his rounds.

One more flight. The door was unlatched, unbarred, and Shiro smiled. Relvor might buy the cheapest liquor and keep the coppers for himself, but in twelve years, he'd respected the only request Shiro had ever made. Besides, he'd always tracked the date even when Shiro hadn't been able.

No guards were present on the central keep, though for once that might not have required Relvor's help. Four lions sat on the other towers, impressive silhouettes against the night sky. The castle watch was probably drinking itself blind, free of their duties now the guardians were present.

Shiro found his spot, tucked in the corner where two merlons met at the tower's corner. From here, he could look through the south-east crenelle and pretend he could see home. He pulled a corner of the cloak over his head as a hood and settled in, hissing at the pain of leaning against a merlon. He pulled out the pendant to lay on his chest, and uncorked the bottle.

The first sip made him choke. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand and forced down a second sip. It made him wheeze, and he almost laughed at having to talk himself into the third and final sip. It was vile stuff.

He felt for the the stone slab with the natural shallow bowl, and poured three times. He recorked the bottle, bent his head, and called his ancestors.

"Father, Mother. Grandmother, Grandfather, Aunts, Uncles…" The list felt endless, every year, along with his apologies. "I'm sorry I have nothing better to offer you, and I'm sorry I didn't even know the day, last year. It's better you didn't see me, then. But I'm… back, now. Don't be worried, I'm fine."

The elder moon rose, a silver crescent, swathed in clouds. By the time Shiro had told his family about being freed from the prison, the younger moon was cresting the mountain peaks to hide behind the clouds. The ancestors had sipped the offering slowly this year, perhaps to make up for his absence the year before. Shiro took three more sips, barely enough to wet his tongue, and poured the rest into the hollow stone.

"I have something else, this year," Shiro said.

He laid the Marmora root beside the pool, explaining its purpose for staving off hunger pains when travelling fast. The ginger sweets had spent the day tucked into Shiro's boots, out of sight. He unfolded the paper, hardly feeling it against the brisk wind curling across the castle's towers. Eight sweets left. He put one on his tongue, and another beside the pool of liquor.

"Ancestors," Shiro whispered, eyes fixed on the distance, beyond the mountains, across the inland sea, to a land of solemn forests and rolling hills. "Forgive me for offering you this. I know I'm a wretched child to offer you such a pitiful meal. And it's not even the same as what you made, Mother, even if it's closer than I've had in years."

The liquor was half-gone, a third left of the bitter root. The single ginger sweet had cracked into tiny shards. Shiro rolled the sweet around on his tongue. It was hardly a feast, but more than he'd been able to offer since the King had died.

He bent his head, gathering his energy for the final recitation. Once, his entire family had shared the task of calling the ancestors back to themselves. Now he was the only left, and every year he knew he'd forgotten yet another name, or another face. He had to concentrate to remember his own mother's smile or his father's laugh.

In the silence, quick footsteps warned him. Shiro sank into the corner, out of the moonlight. The person came running along the wallwalk from the southwest tower. Two more figures approached from the opposite direction, both too slight in build to be guards. The three met at the center of the tower: two almost equal in height, the third almost a head shorter.

"How did you do that?" The third—a woman, maybe, or a young boy—asked. "I was sound asleep!"

"Calling the guardians linked me to them," one of the other replied.

Shiro nearly swallowed his tongue. If Poltan thought ten lashes suitable for irking the princess, there'd be no counting how many he'd give for intruding on the princess with her paladins. Poltan would probably throw in another twenty for trespassing the upper levels, but by then Shiro would be too far gone to care. Last time he'd gotten thirty, he'd barely survived.

A thick layer of clouds passed over the elder moon, spreading to cloak the younger moon. Not a single star, although the darkness hid Shiro, at least. He kept his ears open, waiting anxiously for one of them to notice him.

Another set of footsteps, one heavy, one light. Shiro dared a glance from under the edge of his blanket-cloak. The five had gathered in the center, with the heavyset paladin handing something to each of them.

"You're lucky I brought more," he said. "How many do you need, anyway?"

"The crown will reimburse you," Allura promised.

"No offense, but the way your ministers look at us, they'd probably reimburse us with one-way tickets out of Altea."

"Hunk, now you're the one being rude," one of the other men said.

"I'm being honest," Hunk said.

"He's not wrong, Lance." Allura made a frustrated sound. "You're nothing like any of the previous paladins. Usually at least two of you would be from Altea."

"Really? Which two?" the shortest paladin asked.

"Definitely Red, usually Yellow, and sometimes Green." Allura said. "Blue is always a foreigner."

Lance laughed under his breath. "Maybe the rest of them figured out Blue had the right idea."

The last figure finally spoke. "Tell us what we need to do."

Shiro froze, amazed in one breath and devastated in the next. Keith had become a paladin. Keith would be around the castle. The truth that had lain between them, unspoken, would be shown. Some distances could not be bridged. Shiro closed his eyes, the ginger suddenly as bitter on his tongue as the Marmora travellers' root.

Shuffling feet as Allura moved the paladins into position around her, and the five sat.

"There's a jarta, a large around as… oh, like this big," Allura said.

"That's huge," Lance said. "That must've been a monster of a lizard."

"Maybe, but it's gone," Allura said. "It's been sixty years since the guardians were needed. Who knows what happened in the meantime."

Pidge and Hunk made concerned sounds. To Shiro's ears, Allura lied. She spoke too lightly, too confidently.

"Pidge, move closer, there's good," Allura continued. "Keith, you, too. Hold on, I need to take my shoes off."

Hunk's frown was clear in his tone. "Your feet will freeze."

"Here," Lance said. "We could cover—"

"No, don't. All four must be exposed to the… well, if we had starlight," Allura said. "The sky should be enough, I hope. Now, hold it between your palms, think of your connection with your lion. Take a deep breath. Breathe out, long and hard. One breath—"

A heart beat passed. Four lights grew, each one glowing softer than quintessence bubbles, and pulsing faintly, as if alive. Green, red, yellow, blue. The lights dimmed as each paladin cupped their hands over the jarta.

"How do you know this will even work?" Keith asked.

"I don't, but the legends say that huge jarta was original four. My grandmother told me the story, when I was little. Remember to keep concentrating. Ready? On the count of three…"

"Three," Lance said. "Two… one."

The four lowered their glowing jarta, and the lights faded. Almost like after-images, but if Shiro squinted, he could make them out. Blue suddenly flared up, like a torch catching flame. It lit up the Blue Paladin's downturned face, casting Allura's silhouette in blue. As it faded, Yellow flared, then Green, and finally Red.

Slowly the lights moved together, their luminescence enough to light the scene. Yellow and Blue had their jarta at Allura's feet. Red and Green held theirs over Allura's upturned hands. Allura was pulling her feet in, bringing her hands together.

The colors shifted as the stones grew closer. There was no mistaking the point where they met up: the reflections cast across the four paladins shifted through a riot of colors before settling into a luminescent purple so dark it was nearly indigo.

Allura stood, turning to face the two moons. In her hands pulsed a single jarta, swirling in purple. Blue, yellow, green, red light dripped between her fingers, the energies fading as they fell. Allura held the jarta to her chest. Even in the chancy light of the jarta, Shiro could make out her finger positions. She prayed to the fifth god, the one with no name, the one at the crossroads, balancing the four directions.

"Please," she whispered, and some trick of the tower's design made it seem like she stood at Shiro's shoulder. "Please, please have the Black Lion choose someone truly worthy. Someone respected as a leader. Someone my people will follow without hesitation. Someone above reproach. _Please_."

A gentle purple flushed the jarta. It floated upwards from Allura's outstretched fingers, fading as it rose. And then it was gone.

"Hey," Hunk whispered, "was it supposed to do that?"

"Yes, it means—" She gasped, and the four paladins dove as one, catching her from falling. The group helped her sit, staying close. "That was a bit… I feel so dizzy. Now I know why Great-grandmother called it the black miasma." Her laugh was both annoyed and amused.

"Miasma," Lance said. "Don't look at me, I don't know what that is."

"A foul air," Pidge answered.

"Calling the final guardian is overpowering. It's a lot of power to hold," Allura shifted in place, and the paladins rearranged to sit with her.

Shiro stifled a frustrated sigh. His ancestors waited for the final part of his offering, his own memories and words. The princess had completed her ritual, the night grew late, the wind fierce. He wanted them off the tower, to let him finish and leave in peace.

"What do you mean, hold?" Lance asked.

"That's how it works. The guardians are connected to two points. You, as paladins, and me, as the one who called them. Once you made the pact, I could feel my link to the guardian change, as you took over the greater part." Allura yawned loud enough that her jaw cracked. "Oh, my. It's been a long day."

"Do you have to do the rest up here?" Pidge asked. "Could we at least light a fire or something?"

"No, and no light," Allura said. "Each guardian has an element, and the fifth guardian's element is the night sky. Well, it should be a starry sky. I really hope the clouds aren't a sign I've made an irreversible mistake."

"Why irreversible?" Keith asked.

"The fifth guardian must be here by dawn, or…" Allura's tone was a helpless shrug. "My body will give out from storing this energy."

"Give out—" Lance said, then yelped. "You mean _die_. You'll—okay, Hunk, you've got brains, how do we get the damn thing to show up sooner?"

"I have brains, too," Pidge protested. "Don't leave me out."

"Great, then use them," Lance snapped. "What if we woke up all those warriors—"

"Stop," Allura said, quietly. "I don't think that'd be wise. The fifth guardian dislikes such spectacle. We have to trust it's heard my plea and will appear."

"Has it ever not shown up?" Pidge asked, in a small voice.

"Twice." Allura sighed. "Maybe more. It can be hard to tell, when all the chronicles record is an unexpected and incurable illness. But twice that I know of."

"Why would you take such a risk?" Lance asked. "I mean, Blue is wonderful. Don't get me wrong, but this seems like… why would you do that?"

"It's all a risk," Allura said. "The truth is, if one of you happen to die before all five guardians are gathered, I'll also die."

"And if you force a guardian to reject one of us, you'll also die," Hunk added.

"Yes." Allura seemed quite matter-of-fact about it. "The rockfall that killed my—the rockfall damaged the throne, and the ministers refuse to enthrone me until it's repaired. Daibazaal is on the move again. I cannot muster my people uncrowned, which means no armies in defense."

"You think the guardians are a way to get around that," Pidge said.

"I know they are. Their arrival proves I'm the legitimate queen."

"If they arrive," Lance said, darkly.

Shiro dared to stretch out his hand, feeling around for the offerings. The root was mostly chewed, and the ginger sweet was gone into dust. Even the horrendous liquor was gone, the bowl dry. He smiled. At least his paltry offerings had been palatable.

"On the other hand, I suppose there's not much point to freezing all night, waiting here," Allura said. "We might as well—oh, who's sitting on my skirt? I can't get up."

"Sorry," Keith said.

"Here." Hunk was first to stand, and lifted Allura right onto her feet. "There you go."

"Thank you." Allura's shape was lost in the huddle's outline. "Thank you, each of you, for helping me call the final guardian. Let us hope the morning brings good news."

One by one, each departed, back to their towers. Pidge's light dashing footsteps off to the west. Keith's near-silent tread, beside Hunk's heavier step. That left two, and Shiro recited reminders in his head. He'd been borne worse. No reason to lose his patience, for this small thing.

"Princess," Lance whispered, an indistinct shape in the middle of the battlements platform. "That original jarta wasn't lost, was it."

"It _has_ been sixty years." Allura stood at the door to the stairs, beneath the darker shape of the small watchtower. "But… it was there. My mother showed it to me, after she was enthroned."

"And now it's missing. Just curious, what are the chances someone else has already called the Black Lion?"

"I have no sisters, if that's what you're asking. Nor any aunts, that i know of." Allura kicked the stone, from the scuffing sound. "I don't know. It might be possible."

"What happens, then? Will the lions answer to someone else?"

"I don't know. Maybe. What are you getting at?"

"Just that… you're thinking about the risk you're taking, and it's a huge one. I'll grant you that. But… thanks to all this, we're now targets, too. Your ministers would clap me in fetters and lock me away. They'll send Pidge home to be executed with the rest of her family. From what I heard in the courtyard tonight, they'll execute Keith as a spy, proof be damned. I don't even want to think about what they'd do to Hunk."

Allura had her back to Shiro, but she wasn't more than ten paces' distance. Shiro doubted Lance could hear Allura's murmur, from halfway across the tower: _a thief, a heretic, a traitor, and a spy_.

"I'm just saying, princess. We're all in this together. We have as much to lose as you."

"You forgot one. No matter who becomes your leader, that person will need us. Or—" She broke off. "Never mind, let's not borrow trouble. I will see you at dawn." It was a clear dismissal, and Lance took it as one, departing without another word.

The sound of the latch thrown echoed across the parapets. Shiro dropped his head back against the merlon. He'd been locked out. There was no getting around his next whipping. So many years of coming up, once a year, and he'd always been so careful to never be caught. Nothing to be done, then, except use the time wisely.

He began by calling his mother, speaking of her hands, her smile, awkwardly hanging laundry while she swung with all her might to beat the dust from their floor-coverings. Then his father, broad-shouldered, capable, mouth lined from laughing. His mother's parents, his father's. His mother's siblings, his father's, then his grandparents' siblings. He stumbled over names that escaped him, worried he was mixing his mother's elder sister with his father's younger sister, or his father's favorite uncle with his grandmother's second husband.

From the glimpses of the moons through the clouds, the entire remembrance took two hours. Shiro couldn't feel his toes, or his nose. His fingers were stiff, but at least the bruises on his back had quieted their complaining. Or perhaps his back was frozen, too, from being pressed against icy stone.

He uncurled, getting to his feet with a groan. The central tower was locked, but he could try the southeast tower. It was more likely the Yellow and Blue paladins wouldn't know to latch the towers, but he'd have to pass the southeast tower to get to their towers across the wallwalk. Might as well try that one first. Shiro picked up the empty bottle, hefted it in one hand, tempted to throw it off the southern face. It had to be three hundred sticks or more, all the way down. He dismissed the notion. He was probably in enough trouble already.

He had to feel along the parapet's edge, using it as guide to find the opening to the wallwalk. Elder moon had set, and younger moon was at the mountain tops to the west. Dawn would be in a few hours. The world was utter darkness. He counted the merlons, found the corner, and continued his limping progress. His fingers brushed air, a sign he'd reached the wallwalk—and then his fingers brushed fur, something rich and thick. The sensation was gone just as fast, leaving Shiro shaking. He took a step onto the wallwalk, when a sudden gust of wind nearly bowled him over.

He stumbled sideways, fortunately catching himself on the merlon rather than tripping and falling through a deep crenelle. Shiro clung to the stone, forced his heart to calm, and realized he could make out the edges of the crenellations. He raised his head, amazed as the vast numbers of stars. A river from one horizon to the next, a million sparkling lights hanging within darkness so black it was nearly purple, swirled through with deepest indigo. A curious sensation tiptoed its way up his spine, and it had nothing to do with the lingering aches from the whip's marks.

Shiro turned, cautiously. He kept his left hand on the merlon, letting the stone's chill keep him grounded. Something sat on the tower, looming far over his head. It blocked out half the sky, an indistinct blackness that seemed to absorb what little light the stars provided. It moved, and the starlight danced along its edges, outlining it in a flare of purple, edged with a clear white-blue like the heart of the hottest fire. Two great golden eyes stared down at him.

Shiro stared back, frozen in place, mouth open.

The lion lowered its head, the golden eyes burning like twin suns, illuminating the outlines of its snout. It stopped close enough for Shiro to reach out and touch it, but he couldn't move. 

 _Takashi,_ the lion thought at him, clearly and precisely, startling Shiro with a name no one had called him in twelve years. He'd barely caught his breath from that when an image slammed into his head. A jarta, glimmering violet in the starlight.

"I don't have one," Shiro said. "You need to ask someone else."

The lion purred. Images prodded at the edges of Shiro's mind, and he gasped as their meaning became clear. He raised his right hand, astonished. He held no bottle, but a jarta as big around as his arm.

"That's not possible," Shiro protested. He held out the jarta, his fingers open. "Please, take this back. People's lives are at stake. You must pick someone worthy, someone people will follow..."

The lion blinked at him, slowly, its presence pressing down on him until he wasn't sure how he remained standing.

 _Our beloved child_ , the lion rumbled, amused and exasperated. _You have always been worthy in our eyes._


	8. Chapter 8

Pidge crawled off the bedsheet spread across the stones in front of Green, and sat back on her heels. The quintessence bubbles had dimmed, and she absently flicked a finger at them.

"Alright, how about that?" Pidge looked up at Green, who studied the drawings with narrowed eyes. "One for each claw, and whatever you cut through would never heal." She set the chalk against her chin. "Well, probably not for awhile."

Green purred, and tapped a paw lightly. Impatient.

"As soon as I can!" Pidge frowned. "Once I figure out how to attach them." Maybe Hunk could help with that. He was Balmeran, and every story said they could rival any magi when it came to stone and metal.

She leaned back, stretching her neck. The Black Lion had been present when she'd brought her ideas for Green's review. Since then, no movement from the newest lion. It dwarfed the other four, black on its flanks and torso, and unlike the rest, its coloration was varied. Gold ears, a red streak from its nose to brow, blue and green on its chest.

Dawn was strange in Altea. The distant mountains kept the sunrise hidden for at least an hour, and cast the mountains as shadows against the sky. Orange and peach streaks cast a startling backdrop, finally revealing the true expanse of the fifth guardian. Unlike the rest, it had wings. Folded, tucked up against its back.

Pidge pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her shins, momentarily distracted by trying to remember where she'd heard of flying lions. Probably a children's book Matt had read her, when she was little.

She leaned a chin on her knees, smiling when Green rumbled a reassurance. Somewhere, off to the east, her family was imprisoned. All she'd wanted was to convince the princess to intercede on the basis of being a long-time ally, and instead she'd put that very alliance in jeopardy. On the other hand, who was going to stop her, now?

"Hey, girl, how do you feel about rescue missions?" Pidge squawked when Green slammed a paw down in the middle of the bedsheet. "Right, right, first the nifty additions, then we go scare the piss out of some Vakarian asshats."

"Out of who?" The Blue Lion's paladin appeared around Green's foot. "Hungry?"

"Starving." Pidge caught the object in time, delighted to find it was a meat pastry. She bit into it, almost groaning with pleasure. So much better than the street-vendor food she'd been living on. "Thanks."

"No problem." Lance leaned against one of the merlons, tilting his head to study the sheet. "You been up here all night?"

"Nope, only the last two hours, I guess." Pidge shrugged and took a second bite of the pastry, talking around it as she pointed. "Hey, did you know if you yank the reins just right, the lion closes up around you?"

"Yeah, learned that when Blue took a bit more of a leap into the river than I expected." He sobered. "I don't recommend you trying it, though. Water came rushing in pretty fast."

"Good to know." Pidge crammed the last of the pastry into her mouth. Didn't the lesson didn't apply to him, too? Who was he, that he'd be so unconcerned? Idly she flicked her fingers, preparing.

Lance put up a hand. "You might want to cut back on that," he said, pleasant enough, but his grin showed teeth. "Not everyone's gonna take it well. Try asking, instead."

Embarrassed, Pidge relaxed her hand, letting the cast fade from her fingertips. "Sorry. It's a habit."

"You're Vakarian. Of course it is." Lance glanced over at the Black Lion. "Wonder what's going on over there."

Pidge thumped her fist on Green's paw until Green huffed and moved. She stood, rolling up the bedsheet into a messy bundle. Four guards looked pasted against the merlons, trying to avoid the unmoving Black Lion. Past them, Hunk and their other new team mate stood by the Red Lion, also watching the guards.

"That guy Keith," Pidge said. "He's Galra?"

"Part, I think." Lance pointed to his head. "Ears are the wrong shape. Probably a human parent."

"He and—" Pidge's mind blanked. "What's the Balmeran's name again?"

"Hunk." Lance wasn't watching those two. He seemed to be tracking the guards closely. "Until Zarkon attacked last year, the Balmerans were apparently longtime allies of the Marmora."

Pidge squinted, studying the big guy. "Is it true Balmerans turn to stone if they're exposed to salt water?"

"What?" Lance laughed. "Haven't heard that one. Would've made crossing the outer sea a real hassle, and—oh, looks like our final paladin likes to sleep late."

The new paladin must've been sleeping at the lion's feet. He stood, yawning, rubbing his eyes. The guards beckoned him. The lion shifted, head coming down, and the guards shrieked. The paladin patted Black on the snout, and waved the guards towards the door to the stairs.

"Is that white hair? Did we get some old guy?" Pidge asked.

"Doesn't look old. Rest of his hair's black, at least." Lance pursed his lips. "I think Keith must know him."

Keith had bolted down the wallwalk, shouting. The morning wind and the distance made it impossible to hear. Pidge used both hands to weave a listen, took a step back, and tossed the cast as hard as she could.

Lance sighed. "What did I tell you about—"

"Just listen," Pidge said, stretching the thread wide between her fingers, rather than placing it to her ear.

"Stay back," the guard warned Keith, the sound a half-beat off his outstretched hand. "The Black Lion is always unstable for the first three days."

"Shiro," Keith cried.

The new paladin—Shiro—paused, long enough to glance back at Keith. He looked relaxed, but Pidge cocked her head at the odd note in his reply.

"I'll see you after I meet with the princess," Shiro said. "Nothing's going to happen."

"Strange, Keith doesn't look too convinced," Lance said.

Pidge frowned, trying to remember the precise movements for casting vision. By the time she'd figured it out, the guards were gone.

Keith turned back to say something to Hunk, as Black came up on all fours, roaring. Its wings flared out, its full wingspan wide enough to almost reach Green and Red. Pidge had a glimpse of Keith spinning around to stare up at Black. Then the wings lowered and Pidge hit the ground, hands over her head.

Lance dragged her to her feet. "We helped you, now it's your turn. Come on!"

 

 

 

The airship swayed. Lotor lifted his pen in time to save his notes from being stabbed by the quill. The airship settled, and he scribbled the last line. He slid the pen into its travelling case and bound up his notes. A click marked the voice-tube opening up on the deck, two floors above.

"We have a visual on the plateau, Prince Lotor," Axca said. "Looks like the princess is there to greet us."

"On my way." Lotor slid on his coat, stowing his notebook in the pocket. With one hand he pulled his hair out from beneath the coat, and caught sight of his fingers. Covered in ink stains. He made a face and sucked on his fingers, then rubbed them on his coat.

He took the narrow wooden steps two at a time, stepping onto the bridge as the airship began its circular descent. The plateau was simply a flat open area about halfway up the Oriande Peak. Lotor braced himself against the airship's ribs, frowning down at the devastation above the plateau. When Oriande was first built, the plateau had been the castle's front yard, of a sort. The Alteans had carved their castle from the mountain itself, the throne a simple rock. Over the centuries, the castle—and the town, now a city—had outgrown its origins. Except for the rare coronation and annual religious gatherings, only the occasional airship came to the plateau.

Lotor's fingers itched to explore those deepest reaches of the castle; he was certain there must be historical delights long forgotten, even if those levels had been abandoned for a reason. Over-carved and under-engineered, rock-falls and cave-ins were common.

The airship settled down with a soft bump. Zethrid opened the voice tube, shouting commands through the ship. Lotor wouldn't have blamed Allura for choosing this once to wait for him at the castle. It to be hard, being within a stone's throw of the rockfall that had buried her mother.

"I'll meet you at the castle," Lotor said, unsurprised when all four of his adjutants turned, almost as one, to stare him down. He sighed. "Axca, Ezor, then?"

"Good." Zethrid elbowed Narti. "I told you eventually he'd learn."

"Zethrid," Lotor said.

Zethrid grinned, unabashed. "Go on with you, then. Narti and I will be along once we've got this tied down. Two days' leave for the crew?"

"Right." Lotor hurried down the steps, Ezor and Axca behind him.

The sun hadn't yet topped the mountains, and the morning breeze was chilly. Allura waited with two of her attendants, all three mounted on royal behemoths. Three castle grooms waited beside them with additional behemoths. Allura waved, dropping lightly to the ground. Lotor opened his arms wide as he strode forward. Allura met him halfway, smiling, to throw her arms around his neck. He straightened up, and the move pulled Allura right off her feet. She yelped and smacked him in the shoulder until he let her down, chuckling.

"Stop growing already," Allura said. "And before you ask, I haven't had the engineers reinforce the ruins for you. They're busy enough—" Her smile faltered. "It's too dangerous."

"How are you doing?" Lotor slung an arm around her waist, glad when she did the same in return, as they always had. "I meant to come sooner, but I had to stop in Chandra—"

"Because some bookshop swore it had exactly the text you'd been seeking," Allura finished. "Was worth it?"

"Maybe." Lotor let go of her to accept the reins of the bay behemoth. "I haven't decided yet."

He swung up the saddle, and Allura mounted her own, falling in beside him. Axca followed, Ezor muttering dire threats if the behemoth didn't behave. Radala looked like she hadn't changed a hair in the year since he'd last been to Oriande. The other attendant was newer, but rode like she was born in the saddle, and her sword was no more for show than Allura's own blade.

"It's been hard," Allura admitted, as she turned the behemoth's head towards the winding road that would bring them to the castle's eastern gate. "I miss Mother so much. I keep expecting to turn around and see her."

"I'm sorry." Lotor wasn't sure what else he could say. "If there's anything I can do, you'll tell me, I hope."

"You can distract me. We can play a few rounds of spades while you tell me about your latest interest."

"Only if you roll your sleeves up, first. Your wins are suspiciously quick."

Allura opened her blue eyes wide, the picture of innocence, and ruined it with a wide grin. "Alright, we can set up a game of six pins, then."

"We do make six." Lotor nodded his head at the attendants following them. "Or we could just save the time and concede to Axca, now." He steered the behemoth close enough to nudge Allura's knee with his. "You don't have to pretend with me. You know that, right?"

"I do, and I appreciate it. I just want—ever since Mother—oh, I don't even know where to begin. Nothing has gone like I would've expected." Her laugh was almost bitter. "The ministers have shown a remarkable amount of backbone on at least two points."

"The Oriande throne," Lotor guessed. "There was a chunk taken out of it."

"It cracked in the rockfall, and shortly after I called the guardians, it shattered." Allura's shoulders slumped. "The ministers say it'll take two years to replace. I can't wait that long, not with—" Her brows came down. "I'm trying but it doesn't feel entirely real, and the problem is I don't want it to be. I'm not ready."

"I don't think anyone's ever really ready." Lotor reined in the behemoth at a wider spot along the trail, where the stubby Altean pines gave way to show a vista of the wide valley below. "This might be our only chance to speak without too many ears."

"Radala and Vara have my implicit trust," Allura said. "And if you wanted to keep secrets from Axca or Ezor, they'd find out, anyway."

"True." Lotor dismounted, leading Allura to the cliff's edge. "Sit," he said, patting the rock beside him.

Allura gave him a puzzled look, but sat beside him, swinging her legs alongside his over the nine-hundred stick drop to the valley floor. "I'm not letting you explore the ruins, Lotor, so don't bother asking. It's too dangerous."

He managed a smile. "Someday I'll convince you, but no, that's not my purpose."

"Oh." She leaned back on her hands, as close to casual as she'd ever be. "What's going on?"

"You remember back when you proposed to me?" Lotor couldn't quite look her in the eye. Seventeen, good friends though hardly in love, and Allura had offered as an end-run around the ministers who'd prefer a political alliance. "And my mother was so adamant…"

"I wouldn't say my mother was much more thrilled." Allura's smile was fond. "Your only interests were history and swords play."

"I found out the real reason." Lotor took a deep breath. "You and I, we're cousins. I don't mean in the royal sense." As the son of the Daibazaal Autocrat, Lotor's bloodline was considered equal to Altea, of a rank to call Allura 'cousin', or the child of any other dynastic family. "I mean… your grandmother and my grandmother were sisters."

"That's not possible. The fire that killed Great-aunt Qulla… none of her household survived."

"That fire was no accident, and my mother did survive." Lotor exhaled, weighing each word carefully. "She was sixteen. She fled to her father's family in Dalteria. They kept her real origins a secret, and introduced her as the orphan of a branch family. She met my father when he came to Dalteria's university, and…" Lotor shrugged. "The rest, you know."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because my mother wants the throne she should've inherited, and my father's going to get it for her." Lotor twisted around to face Allura, square-on. "You have two choices. You can sit and wait for my father to raze Altea to the ground in revenge, or you can—"

"I'm not turning over my crown voluntarily," Allura spat. "I called up the guardians. I'm the legitimate monarch."

Lotor waited. He'd known her long enough to respect her intuition. Their very first meeting, each thirteen, they'd been finishing each other's sentences inside of an hour. That had never changed, and it was one of many things that made Allura special to him.

Allura's mouth fell open, her brown skin taking an ashen pallor. "Black—that's why I couldn't find—" She pulled herself together with visible effort. "We can't have two legitimate rulers."

"I don't know whether that's true or not," Lotor said. "But there might be a third way."

Again, it took only a heartbeat. "You?"

"It would satisfy my mother. Her line would be restored, and that might stay my father's hand." Lotor had no illusions that Allura would see his words as anything but a betrayal, but it still hurt to have that agonized fury turned on him. "I'm sure the ministers have done their best to undermine you, as they did your mother. By the time my father arrives... you'll be lucky to still have the guardians."

"Even the ministers wouldn't be so wrong-headed," Allura insisted. "They'd be leaving us defenseless. And besides, you didn't call the guardians. You can hardly command them."

"I don't intend to."

Allura stared, then abruptly twitched. "I'm missing something."

"I can do the politics. I haven't been studying history simply because I like the smell of old books."

"But you do. Like the smell of old books."

Lotor smiled. "It's a side-benefit, not the goal. You've always studied defense, armaments, troop management—"

"It's the only thing I _can_ do. Not that I want war, but I must be ready, if it comes."

"You will be, and Altea will need you. I know what I'm suggesting is unconventional, but it's the only way I can think to protect Altea. I'll deal with the ministers' political machinations, and you handle Altea's defense."

"Defense of what?" Allura crossed her arms, unconvinced. "You already said your father won't attack if you hold Altea in your mother's name. What does that make me? Unnecessary."

"I would rather have you unnecessary than dead!" Lotor snapped. One of the behemoths snorted, ears going flat. Lotor frowned and lowered his voice. "Please. There are forces at work—I would've come sooner, but I only found out a half-moon ago, and came as soon as I could—"

"Stop." Allura put a hand on Lotor's arm, smiling as he fell silent. "I don't know if I'd say yes. I'm hoping raising the guardians will be enough of a deterrent. But… I also think, if I give up my responsibilities so easily, I wasn't worthy of them in the first place."

"I had to suggest, anyway." Lotor put a hand over hers, squeezing once.

A half-moon before, his mother had come to see him at university, bringing news of Allura's mother's death. Since then, he'd read every chronicle he could find, contemporary reports from Altea immediately before and after the death of its twenty-eighth monarch. He didn't need to know his parents' specific plans; he knew them well enough to guess. If he was right about their reasons for acting, then he could find a way to satisfy that, and still save Altea.

"There's one flaw in your logic, though," Lotor added. "The guardians aren't a deterrent. They're a catalyst."

Allura frowned. "They're a defensive force like any other."

"Not with Altea's history. For a hundred years, Altea's exerted its dominance over every ally, and inserted itself into every conflict. It's had a deciding hand in nearly every internal struggle. For the rest, it's supplied troops, sometimes to both sides. When Altea calls up an overwhelming power like the guardians, others will—"

"No! We've only sent forces when requested. We've been neutral, otherwise."

"On paper, perhaps. But it's Altean slaves bleeding and dying in those lands." Lotor knew his tone was weary. "Do you realize how many times Chandra, or Vakar, or Dalteria, or even tiny Vandor, has been pressured to invite Altea's so-called supervisory forces?"

"We have the resources and the technology—"

"I'm not disputing that—"

"Those lands aren't innocent, either. They've taken full advantage. If not for us, the Vakarian magi would still only have their battlefield magic. Our support is the reason Chandra could focus on developing airships rather than patrolling its borders. We're the reason Dalteria could invest in its universities—"

"I agree it's two-way—"

"Universities we send our citizens to, as well. And airships we purchase, and magi we hire as doctors!"

"But what's the cost of that progress?" Lotor shook his head. "You're never truly safe from a day-lizard, even if today it's not in a mood to spit on you. With the growing tension between Chandra and Vakar, and _now_ you choose to call up the guardians—"

"I told you! The throne has been destroyed. If I wanted two years like the ministers want, by then I'd be nothing but—"

"Did it never occur to you how it'd look, from outside the Altean borders? Right now, Chandra and Vakar are both waiting to see which side you fall on, and which one you'll betray!"

"While _your_ father is on their doorstep! _He's_ the threat, not Altea," Allura retorted. "The guardians might be our only chance against Daibazaal—"

"But now you've _made_ Altea a threat, and those lands are pinned between."

She didn't reply, retreating instead, brows wrinkled as she thought. Eventually, Allura got her feet under her and stood. She did at least put down a hand, helping Lotor up as well.

"I need to think on this, cousin." She brushed off the seat of her riding pants, and gave him a sad smile. "I was hoping you'd be bringing me different news. A new lover, a new set of ruins to explore, something."

Lotor did the only thing he'd ever done, the few times he'd truly upset her. "I'm sorry." He opened his arms, and she accepted the hug. "I don't see any other way out of this except to try something that no one would expect."

"I'm not sure whether abdication would surprise the ministers, or prompt them to throw a party," Allura muttered into his shoulder. She released him with a sigh. "Let's get to the castle. At the very least, you can finally see the guardians yourself."

"Are their chosen paladins really as disreputable as the rumors say?"

"Disre—" Allura mounted her behemoth, and gave him an astonished look. "It's hardly been a day! How could you have heard?"

"There were entire flocks of messenger-birds coming from Altea," Lotor said, clicking his tongue to get the behemoth moving. "We stopped in Neqal at midnight to refuel, and heard the news."

Allura grimaced. "They're nothing like what I'd expected, but perhaps it's only that time has polished the previous paladins into something legendary."

"I heard a thief, a Balmeran, a traitor to the Vakarian High Council, and something about a spy?"

"Technically, he's a mercenary. He's Marmoran."

Lotor hummed. "And the Black Paladin?"

"Selected, but secluded." Allura sighed.

Lotor wondered why. He'd never read up on, nor cared much about, Altea's ancient guardians. "Is this a temple thing?"

"Hardly. It's because the bond with the Black Lion will reportedly exhaust even the strongest warrior. Normally we'd assign guards while the paladin recovers, but the Black Lion wasn't willing to share the duty."

"Curious. I thought they were mostly machines with magi work to fuel them. You make them sound sentient."

"Believe me, they are. More than I'd expected, myself."

"A thief, a heretic... " Lotor knew his smile had to be sly. "That frog, the minister of rites? What was his name, Donan, Donor—"

"Donar." Allura rolled her eyes. "Unfortunately, he didn't take to his bed with the vapors."

"Remarkable constitution." Lotor grinned, knowing their usual equilibrium was restored. "For a frog, I mean."

"I was hoping one of the lions would accidentally squish him." Allura brightened, her smile almost wicked. "The day's not over yet, though."

Lotor shook his head. "And people think I'm incorrigible."

 

 

 

Lance's knees were killing him, but the two guards holding his arms weren't gentle, either. One guard held Pidge by the throat, while four guards kept Hunk on his knees. It'd taken another four to hold Keith down. It'd happened too fast to react. 

Maybe twenty people waited in the Inner Hall, a smaller and older version of the castle's great hall. The Inner Hall's fireplace was a simple open square, rather than a modern fireplace. A tripod was set up over it, suspending a pot full of something bubbling and dark.

Lance and Pidge had come through the door and were immediately taken down. Keith and Hunk were right behind them, and jumped just as fast. All four had been dragged to the center of the Hall, and forced to their knees before a collection of capelet-wearing ministers with unsympathetic faces.

The one called Shiro—not a small man, either—had been sent to his knees by a single punch to his back. What had the princess said? The final guardian held the center, and had the greatest demand on its paladin. Lance had napped before meeting Blue, while Hunk had dozed after. If size was a factor in that, Lance suspected he would've wanted a good ten hours of sleep after meeting Black, too. But with no guards holding that one paladin down, Lance really wished the guy would wake up already. The rest of them had yelled loud enough, until they'd been pinned.

Lance tried wriggling, testing for any give. His reward was a piercing pain as the guards shoved their thumbs into a soft spot under his shoulder blades.

"Hurry, hurry," the nearest minister urged. "It's hot enough already."

Another minister ran forward, a large wooden box in her hands. A third undid the lock, and Lance reached out to Blue.

 _Come get me_ , he called. _Right here. Through the walls, doesn't matter._

Far off, Blue's roar sounded, followed by Red's furious cry. All but Black responded, it seemed like—until the second minister upended the box's contents into the pot. Silver bangles fell out, plopping in the dark boiling liquid.

"Red!" Keith cried out.

Blue was gone. Lance searched for the sensation of her nestling against his heart. She wasn't only absent in the sense of leaving a space. It was as if she'd never existed.

"What the hell did you do to Yellow?" Hunk demanded, lunging forward, almost shaking off the guards. "Let go of me!"

"We have suspended your connection." The minister was short and round, with a croaking voice. He waved at the pot. "Now that all five of you are here, the princess is no longer in danger, and we can proceed accordingly."

Hunk fought to stand up, and was shoved back down.

"You're forcing the lions to reject us?" Lance grit his teeth against the pain shooting through his arms, and shifted his weight to one knee. He swung his leg out, sweeping one guard right off his feet. Instantly three more were on Lance, shoving him flat to the ground. One held his head to the ground. "You'll kill the princess!"

"The lions will reject you, themselves, once you're condemned." The minister steepled his fingers. "Tador, the charges, please."

Lance couldn't see much with his cheek flat against the stone. And mostly he felt a tremendous ache, as though part of himself was clawing through solid rock to reach for Blue. Beside him, Pidge was arched backwards, trying to avoid the knife at her throat. Hunk and Keith were nearly hidden by the guards holding each of them down. In the center, Shiro lay where he'd collapsed, but his eyes had opened.

Pidge suddenly laughed. "Oh, that's so stupid it's almost clever. Fire, wood, water, earth, all in one. Boiling mud, and the elements cancel each other out."

"That seems… kinda simple," Hunk said, momentarily distracted from fighting his keepers.

"Those bracelets must be the paladin regalia," Pidge said. "No need to cheer, pretty sure I'm right."

Stupid, but effective. Block the regalia, block the connection. Lance grunted, trying and failing to get any leverage. If he could just reach Blue, somehow...

A minister shuffled forward from the back, arms full of scrolls. He dumped them on the hall's central table. Lance winced as the stone scraped his cheek when he craned his neck to look. The minister named Tador droned on, reciting a series of crimes Lance had perpetuated since entering Oriande. The fact that he could've done them didn't change the fact that he hadn't, but Lance doubted they cared.

"For his crimes, we'll cut off his hands," Tador announced.

It got an annoyed snort from the short minister in charge. "That's not going to kill him."

"Fine, cut off his head, if you want. As for the heretic…" Tador picked up the next scroll. "For crimes against the five gods—"

"We don't need the list, Tador," someone said from the back. "We all know the punishment for heresy."

"Yes, fine. Disembowelment and crucifixion." Tador undid the next scroll, and cleared his throat

In that single heartbeat, Shiro shot to his feet. He caught the hand of the guard holding Pidge, twisted, and the knife was free. Shiro punched the guard, pivoted, and threw the knife. Hunk ducked, and one of Keith's guards threw himself backwards. Keith yanked his arm free, in time to seemingly pluck the knife from the air.

Lance grinned. "Hey, you four," he told his own guards. "Y'know, let me up now, and you might be the only ones who aren't carried out of here."

"What are you gonna do to us?" A mush-mouthed growl from the guard holding down Lance's face. "We got you, and you ain't moving."

"Sure, but once my team's free, your odds are looking a lot worse." Lance shrugged. "Hey, up to you. I figured I'd offer."

Pidge had leapt on one of Hunk's guards, one arm around his neck. She bit down on his cheek, prompting the man to holler, let go of Hunk, and thrash his arms at Pidge. Her other hand was out, weaving a cast. Her fingers flicked, and one of Hunk's other guards reeled back, hands over his eyes.

The guard threw Pidge off him, and she hit the ground. Keith had taken out two of his guards, while Shiro efficiently finished off the other two. Hunk shoved himself to his feet, bringing his arms together hard enough to swing the guards around, banging their skulls together.

"Now would be a good time," Lance said, pleased when the four decided retreat was the better part of wisdom.

They let go, backing away. He sat up, rotating his shoulder, his gaze fixed on the real objective. Shiro caught the last guard in the neck with the flat of his hand, holding everyone's attention. Lance got up, walking right through the shocked ministers to the firepit. The tripod legs were fortunately propped on the low stone surround. Easy enough to catch hold of one foot, and heave.

The tripod tumbled over, the pot hitting the floor with a solid crack. Boiling mud poured out and ministers screamed, running into each other in their panic to avoid the hot liquid.

"Hey, Pidge," Lance called. "Any chance you can cool this down fast, for me?"

"Yeah…" Pidge said up, rubbing her side. She made a motion with both hands, then tossed something unseen at the spreading liquid.

The steam faded. Lance squelched through the mud, running his fingers through it. He knew the second he'd found his own. Blue came tearing back into his mind, delighted and baffled as to his absence. Lance wriggled the bracelets onto each wrist. The next had a green stone, clearly for Pidge. One by one he fished each out, wiped off the stone, and tossed it to the respective paladin. Ten bracelets in all.

Nonchalantly, Lance caught the hem of the nearest minister's long tunic, wiping the mud off his hands. The man hollered something, tugging at his tunic. Lance didn't let go until the man had dug in his heels, and sure enough, letting go sent the man backwards onto his ass.

As each paladin reconnected, their lion's voice joined the crescendo of angry roars filling the Inner Hall. All except Black, whose growl felt like a low rumble. Shiro swayed, hand to his chest, and Keith caught him before he fell. A tremendous thud echoed from the courtyard, and Blue's face appeared in the unshuttered windows to the courtyard.

"Blue, if you don't mind?" Lance asked, and backed up.

Blue opened her mouth. A thick stream of water burst forth, soaking the ministers, dousing the fire, and washing away the mud. Lance got thoroughly wet, too, but he didn't mind. Keith looked up from where he'd sheltered Shiro, and Lance laughed. Apparently water didn't agree with the Red Lion's paladin.

At the far end of the hall, the doors blew open with a bang.

A behemoth stood there, nostrils flaring, sides heaving, eyes red. Allura stood up in the stirrups, furious. "What the hell is going on here?"

A second behemoth rode into view beside her, its rider as regal as Allura. Lance figured the man was tall, and at least partly Altean, with that long white hair in the noble style. No capelet, rather a somber open tunic in the Dalterian style.

"Princess," a minister said from the back, "you've come just in time."

"I can see that." Allura urged her behemoth forward, not even glancing to the side when the enraged behemoth snapped its fangs at the nearest ministers. "Explain this, Donar."

"They attacked us," the minister croaked. "They demanded the regalia—"

"Hey," Hunk said, stopping when Allura put up a hand.

"Donar," Allura warned, but she didn't have a chance to finish.

Feet pounded from behind Lance, and he turned as a soldier threw himself into the Inner Hall, going down on one knee before a minister at the side. A tall woman, who'd remained silent. The minister of war. The soldier raised his head, saw Allura, and twisted in place to face her, instead.

"Princess, the watchtowers are lit. Airships approaching from the east." He choked, catching his breath. "It's Daibazaal. We're under attack."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come say hello on tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sol1056)


	9. Chapter 9

Allura yanked on the reins, hard, just as the behemoth snapped its fangs at the minister of roads and tollways. She walked the creature into the Hall, glad when the ministers retreated. Some looked guilty, but most shot her defiant glances when they thought she wasn't looking.

At least the paladins seemed unharmed. Lance had an arm around Pidge, helping her up; the girl held her side. Hunk stood with fists raised and chin jutting, defending Keith and someone who had to be the Black Paladin. Insult on top of injury, to expect that paladin to even be conscious so soon after bonding.

"Soldier," Hira said, waving ministers out of her way to claim the center of the hall. "Fetch Martan and my captains. Princess, I'll take the tenth battalion to the front."

"You can't do that," Calsa said from her huddle with two other ministers. "That's the castle's defensive force!"

"We have the guardians." Allura glanced down at a soft cough. One of the castle's servants, hands out for the behemoth's reins. She dismounted, waving to Lotor to do the same. "They're Oriande's—"

"We're not Oriande's anything," Pidge said. "Your ministers just tried to kill us! Seriously, what makes you think I'd risk my life for any of these assholes?"

"You were chosen!"

"Nope, not good enough." Lance scowled. "Not when we were about to get forcibly un-chosen."

"I understand, but we haven't the time right now," Allura said. "I promise you as soon as—"

"That's the daughter of the King I knew," a man said from somewhere behind Hunk. A strong voice, pitched to carry without shouting. A voice used to being heard across battlefields.

Allura couldn't place the voice. It seemed familiar—as did the man's overly-familiar tone.

Hunk frowned and stepped to the side, revealing the speaker. A little taller than Hunk, a half-head taller than Keith, dressed in dull black, cropped dark hair except for shock of white at the brow.

"You." Allura couldn't move.

It had to be a nightmare. She'd begged the Black Lion to bring her a worthy leader of the paladins, and instead this was Black's choice? No wonder the ministers were looking at her like a traitor: she'd failed them, her country, her people... Had someone influenced the choice? How would she even know?

"Just like Alfor, quick to promise, slow to deliver." Shiro's words cut Allura to the quick. It was almost worse that he didn't look angry, so much as disappointed.

"That's King Alfor to you, chattel," Donar snapped. "Princess, consider the timing. First the lions chose untrained and unsuitable paladins. And now Daibazaal attacks, no warning, and unprovoked."

"Our guardians have always chosen wisely." Allura clenched her fists. If the guardians had chosen freely, why ignore so many proven warriors? Why choose these five, instead?

Tador took up the cry. "Someone must have tampered with the selections, intending to take advantage of our dire situation. We must remove these aberrations and let the lions choose again."

No. It was inconceivable the guardians would turn on Altea. Allura's traitorous thoughts were quick with a reply: if the lions had been manipulated, the perpetrator could be relying on Altea's trust blinding it to any warning signs. That would indicate a perpetrator ignorant of the constant rivalries and factions among the ministers. Their trust was in short supply, and limited only to things they could predict, exactly.

They did not want change, and they did not trust it.

Lotor moved to stand at her shoulder, close enough that when he twitched a finger, his hand brushed hers. She didn't look his way, understanding his meaning implicitly. _Breathe._

Martan entered at a quick march, his four lieutenants following. After them came the five sub-commanders of the tenth battalion, the commanders over all those who lived and trained on the castle grounds. The seventh battalion was stationed in its winter quarters in the western valley, too far to reach Oriande in time.

The second, third, and eighth had been deployed to assist allies. Assembling the rest would require her presence at a council of ministers, arranging for how many chattel each household must provide. Once again, no warning, and no time. Why had Daibazaal skipped right past Vakar and Chandra, and come directly for Altea?

And now thanks to those ministers, she was in the unique position of needing to bargan with her own guardian's paladins. Hunk would defend his people, and she'd offered them a home. That had to count for something. Given Pidge's situation, the Green Paladin probably intended to ask Allura to sway the Vakarian High Council. Who knew what Lance wanted, though Keith would be straightforward. The Marmora were mercenaries; their prices were steep but once they signed a contract, they saw it to the end. And then Shiro, who'd already stated his terms: emancipation, one thing she didn't have the power to grant.

This was not how it was supposed to work. Each paladin was to fight with a true heart, their word and lives pledged to Altea's defense. Unhesitating, unyielding.

If no one had manipulated the guardians, there was only one other explanation: Allura was to blame. Maybe she'd offended the guardians, or acted without legitimacy. She glanced back at Lotor, who'd withdrawn to the doors, Axca and Ezor at his side. He gave her a tight nod, encouraging.

"Yator, Faran, get your troops to the valley. Hold the line at the ramparts above the eastern river," Hira said. "The rest of you, deploy the airships. We'll force Daibazaal down, and let the cavalry pick them off. Martan, you have command of the lions for the castles' defense—"

"No." Shiro hadn't raised his voice, but there was as much command in his tone as Hira's. "This team is too inexperienced. They're not ready for battle."

For a split-second, Hira looked as startled as though a chair had suddenly started talking. She recovered quickly. "It's not your call, chattel."

"I am the Black Paladin," Shiro said. "I'm also the only seasoned soldier on the team, and I _am_ making this call. The lions cannot be the first line of the castle's defense."

Allura stepped forward, hoping to intervene. "I hear you, but an entire city is depending on the guardians. That's the reason for their existence. I'm sure if—"

"I'm sure if I send them out, I will lose at least three." Shiro's expression was implacable.

Hira grimaced. "I didn't want to do this. Blame yourself if you don't like the result." She drew her tunic over her head, revealing she wore her golden armor beneath, breastplate etched with intricate curlicues of white gold. A finger at a time, she tugged off her left glove to show a ring on every finger.

Allura stared, horrified. "How dare you wear the Queen's regalia? Who gave you those?"

"Princess," Hira said. "We don't have time for this."

"Then you _make_ the time." Allura pulled herself upright. "I am your _queen_. You were the first to swear fealty to me, when my mother—"

"I swore to Altea, as every general does," Hira said. "This slave is not the only one who would rather not put inexperienced children in harm's way. The difference is that my decision overrides his."

"You can't mean—" Allura reached out, but she was ten paces' distance. She could fight Hira to a draw, but from the set of Hira's jaw, Allura knew that wouldn't be good enough. "Wait, please!"

Hira twisted one of the rings. Lance gave a bitten-off cry, back arching, eyes gone wide and unseeing. Cords stood out against his neck from the strain, and his fingers curled, every muscle drawn. Pidge screamed and flicked her fingers at Hira. A low boom, and Pidge flew backwards.

Keith lunged, catching her. Pidge gasped, sinking to her knees, a hand to her chest. Neither Shiro nor Hunk moved. Hunk's gaze was fixed on Lance, while Shiro watched Hira, expression unreadable.

Allura shouted, demanding Hira stop. Hira ignored her, and Shiro laid a hand on Hunk's arm. Hunk snapped out of his shock and stepped to Lance, hands out and ready. Hira settled the ring back in place, the blue stone glinting with an interior light.

Lance collapsed against Hunk. From the inner ward, Blue growled, rattling the shutters in the windows. A cluster of ministers shouted at Blue's baleful eye appearing in the window, and scurried after their comrades. Most had departed, leaving only Danor and Tador.

Blue pulled away from the window, turning in a frustrated circle. The creature scraped the castle's walls, and the crack of breaking rock shook the Inner Hall. Martan whispered to one of his soldiers, who ran to see.

"Sir, the beast took out the benches along the stables," the woman reported from the window.

As the echoes of Blue's destruction died, a softer sound became known. Lance's muffled whimpers cut Allura to the bone. There were Queens who'd abused their paladins, but their reigns had ended in disaster. Allura couldn't think of an instance of someone outside the direct line using the regalia in a queen's stead.

Hira put her fingers on the next ring, held it in place, and waited.

"No, Hira, _please_ ," Allura said. "This isn't right."

"Enough," Shiro said. "I'll go."

"No!" Allura put out a hand, forestalling Shiro's words. "You mustn't. You haven't fully recovered. You go out there, it'll be too much, you won't—I can't allow it. Hira! I won't let you send someone to certain death."

Hira sighed. "I understand how you feel, but this is why you're a princess and I'm your general. I swore to defend Altea, and I will use every means at my disposal."

"But not at any cost," Allura protested. "You're talking about a suicide mission." So many questions remained, and only Shiro could answer them. She couldn't risk it. "There must be another way."

"Princess Allura." Hira crossed the hall to put her hands on Allura's shoulders, as she had when Allura was ten years younger and struggling to master the sword. "You called the guardians. You've done your part. Donar will complain because he's Donar, but these aren't the first unblooded paladins to be chosen."

Allura held her tongue, unsure where Hira's point would lead.

"I admit I thought you rash, but now I see you were right to act so quickly," Hira continued, gentler. "Now you must trust the guardians. They have always chosen with Altea's protection in mind. It's the sole purpose of their existence."

"But you're asking for—"

"No more than expected. These five are bonded. Nothing can change that now except death, and their oath is to serve and protect Altea."

"No, it's not." Hunk shifted Lance to lay more comfortably against his shoulder. "I can't speak for anyone else, but the only oath I swore was to Yellow."

"Which was created for the singular purpose of guarding Altea." Hira didn't even bother to look Hunk's way. "You're no more than a conduit for the creatures to access living energy."

"That's not true," Allura said, cutting off Hunk's protest. "A paladin is a partner, an equal. They're not just a—a _food_ source—"

"Princess, please," Hira said. "You raise questions our philosophers have debated for centuries. We won't solve them today, and we haven't the time. I need you to step back and let us do our jobs of protecting Altea." She nodded at someone behind Allura.

"Princess Allura," Martan said, from Allura's elbow. "Poltan will escort you to your chambers."

"No." Allura squared her shoulders. Her legitimacy as queen rested in the guardians. Rejecting the paladins would be the first step towards a conclusion that would reject her, as well.

Hira gestured to one of her sub-commanders, murmuring a low order in the man's ear. Lance had managed to stand, with Hunk's help. Pidge leaned against Keith, her face ashen behind her messy copper hair. Shiro hadn't moved, but his eyes were distant as though listening to a sound none could hear but him. These five were somehow meant to protect Altea. For the first time, Allura wondered who would protect them.

"I will not be dismissed," Allura said, softer. "The guardians are my responsibility."

"Princess," Martan said. "You are as precious as Altea to us. Let us protect you."

"No," Allura said, louder. After Father's death, she'd watched Mother learn to bury her private desires and project the conviction her people required. It was time Allura learn to do the same. "You will not gainsay my decision."

Hira's mouth flattened, but she nodded at Martan. It was hardly a victory, and Allura knew it, but it would have to do. A scuffle from the back of the room broke Allura from her momentary irritation. Five guards ringed Lotor. Axca and Ezor stood between, hands on their hilts, but they had yet to draw. If Allura had to put a phrase to her cousin's expression, it would be _mildly put-out._ Someday she'd ask how he managed such calm.

"What are you doing? Prince Lotor is my guest," Allura said.

"We hold our rank because we've earned it," Hira said, sharply. "If your intent is to question every command, you might as well open the gates and welcome our attackers personally."

"I will question you!" Allura snapped. "Deal with the armies outside as you must, but you will not detain my friend—"

" _Allura_!" Hira's shout brought the entire room to an abrupt halt.

Donar and Todar gaped; Martan grimaced. All the paladins but Shiro had tensed, brows raised either at Hira's informality or anger. Allura swallowed hard, refusing to acknowledge the heat in her cheeks.

"You are a princess, soon to be queen," Hira said. "You cannot _afford_ to have friends. Until you rid yourself of such naivete, you are not ready for command."

A knot formed between Allura's shoulders, as though a blade pressed against her spine. Hira had inherited her position as Minister of War, but she'd earned her position as Altea's supreme commander. Allura could claim their audience's sympathy, but Hira held their respect.

Allura glanced at Lotor, not at all reassured by his grim expression. Allura knew she'd been cornered just as neatly, if verbally. If she insisted on Lotor's trustworthiness, she'd show herself an unschooled child, unready for command. Proving herself required sacrificing him.

Hira shook her head, clearly exasperated with Allura's silence. "Princess, that's the firstborn son of the Daibazaal Autocrat. We won't harm him, but we can't allow him to wander free."

For the first time, Lotor spoke up. "You want to use me as leverage."

He put a finger to Ezor's shoulder, and she slid to the side with a grimace. Lotor gave the soldiers an arch look, and they shuffled back, letting him through. Ezor and Axca slammed their hilts back home with loud clicks, and followed.

"Admittedly, that tactic is standard practice." Lotor joined Allura in the center of the room. "In the present circumstances, I warn you, it would be unwise."

"Unwise?" Keith spoke loud enough to make several heads turn in his direction. He stood with arms crossed, distinctly unimpressed. "Call it what it is. Stupid."

A smile flashed across Lotor's face. In an undertone, he asked, "The Marmora spy?"

"And a nearly textbook Red Paladin, it seems," Allura muttered.

"Daibazaal won't care." Keith jerked his head at Lotor. "Leave him alone, and they'll just burn Altea to the ground. Harm him, and they'll salt the earth, too."

"He's the autocrat's son," Hira said. "He's valuable—"

"Only to my father," Lotor said, preternaturally calm, but he stood close enough Allura could sense the quickness of his breath. "In the eyes of whatever warlords are currently attacking, I am at best my father's personal problem, and not their concern."

A muscle flickered in Hira's jaw. "Then you will not complain if we see to your safety for the duration. Poltan—"

"He remains with me." Allura spoke without thinking, and almost showed her surprise when Hira merely frowned. She glanced around, pretending to notice the overturned pot, and the thin sheen of drying mud across the stones. "Let us head to the Council Chamber. I'm sure the staff have been waiting anxiously to repair the damage here."

"Black Paladin," Martan said. "With me."

"I told you, I _forbid_ it." Allura pointed at Shiro. "Not until midnight of tonight. I will not let you send him out—"

"We've been over this, Princess," Hira said. "He's the—"

"I'll do it." Keith stepped forward.

For the first time, Shiro's emotions were plain. Apprehension, chagrin. "Keith, no."

"Someone's got to." Keith's words seemed to be for Shiro, but his gaze was set on Hira. "Red and I can do it."

"He's Marmora." Martan's aside to Hira was low, and doubtful. "They work in pairs and trios, independently. He'd be the riskiest of the lot."

"Then don't put me in your chain of command," Keith retorted. "Just point me at whatever you want destroyed. Red and I will figure it out."

"Keith." Shiro put a hand on Keith's shoulder.

"I don't know," Pidge said. "Look, I'm no trained soldier, but even I know that numbers win battles. If Daibazaal is attacking Altea on its own turf, they'd be pretty stupid to bring the minimum. I know the lions are amazing, but isn't there a reason there's five of them?"

"Sending a single paladin would be a suicide mission of a different sort," Allura said. "Hira, you can't command him to—"

"No one's commanding me," Keith said, flatly. "I'm doing it. You want a paladin, here I am."

Allura sighed. "Very well. Go with Martan." On impulse, she added a subtle warning. "I'll monitor your progress from the Council Chamber and relay your reports." If she hadn't been watching Keith closely, she would've missed the tiny flinch, as though he were taken aback.

"I think we should come with you." Lance rubbed his wrist. "Just in case we need to act fast."

"There's the aerary," Martan said.

"A bird's nest?" Hunk asked, puzzled.

Lotor snorted. "It's a private side-chamber, usually attached to council rooms by a small hall."

Donar grumbled from the back, while Hira gave a curt nod. Allura would've liked to claim that room for herself, if only for a few moments of privacy to collect her thoughts.

Her great-grandmother's private journals had mentioned speaking with the paladins at a distance, but nothing as to the mechanism of doing so. Allura had always assumed Great-grandmother had used the regalia. Then again, she'd always believed the ancient jewelry was useless to any but the one who'd called the guardians.

Martan gave Allura a slight bow, and jerked his head at Keith. "Red Paladin."

Keith approached Martan; behind him, Shiro closed his eyes, chest rising and falling with a deep breath. Visibly steadied, Shiro raised his gaze, meeting Allura's eyes directly. She looked away, uncomfortable.

"News!" A soldier stumbled through the archway from the side-passage, behind the paladins. He avoided them, skidding to a halt before Hira, dropping to one knee. "Fires in the second and third rings, riots in the fourth. First reports say saboteurs." He sent Allura an apologetic look. "Daibazaal must've used the Selection to sneak in their spies."

 

 

 

Shiro knew the instant Keith's mind had clicked into a different direction. He spun on his heel, heading back to Shiro. From the set of his jaw, he had to be thinking the same. Daibazaal didn't act until everyone was in place. Discovery always came too late.

"If they're in the rings, they're in the castle," Keith said. "The fires aren't just for chaos, they're a signal—"

An explosion rocked the castle. Shiro staggered sideways, hands instinctively over his head. The beams overhead shook, dust scattering down. Black rumbled in Shiro's mind, an urgent warning. Strangely, it wasn't to fight, but to get away.

"Three Daibazaal command airships are coming from the west." Shiro announced, sorting through the images Black sent. "They're moving fast."

Lotor straightened up, letting Allura step out from under his arm. Hira barked commands to her soldiers, who ushered the ministers out. Martan looked ready to tear Allura away from Lotor.

"How do you know?" Allura asked. Her eyes widened. "You can hear the Black Lion!"

"Already?" Hira said. "And you wait until now to tell us?"

"General Hira?" The young chattel-solder bent his head at Hira's glance. "Captain Revan wanted your reply?"

In the distraction as Hira issued her orders, Shiro bent to whisper in Pidge's ear. "Get to your lion. Head north, look for a flat-topped peak. Its only road will lead you to a hidden pass. Wait for me there. Tell Hunk and Lance. Go."

Pidge gave a curt nod, joining Lance and Hunk, whispering to each. The three broke apart, none looking back. Hunk and Pidge ran for the stairs to the battlements. Lance headed in the opposite direction, dodging one of Martan's soldiers and bolting out the door to the inner ward.

Overhead, Black roared. Green answered, then Yellow. In the inner ward, Blue crouched, leaping upward and out of sight. Keith pushed through the group to address Shiro.

"What are the insignias?" Keith said. "Red won't focus. Can Black? What are the airships' insignias?"

It took a moment to picture an insignia in his head clearly enough, to explain to Black. Shiro closed his eyes as images flitted through the darkness. "Black talons on grey. Crossed swords… maroon on grey. A gold crescent moon on scarlet—"

"That's Prorok," Keith said.

"Throk's insignia is talons," Shiro added. "I don't know the third."

"Trugg," Lotor said. "Allura, you need to get out of here. Now."

Keith shifted his weight, as if to run. "I have to go." The scar-like mark down his cheek nearly blazed against his pale skin. "I have Red. We can take Prorok."

"Keith—" Shiro steeled himself. "It's not the time."

"He's right here. It's the perfect time!"

"Let's say you can damage his airship enough—" Shiro had thought he'd never see Keith again. For the first time in as far back as he could remember, he'd had hope. If Keith headed out, alone, that hope would be gone. "The other two will flank you. It's too risky."

"I don't care," Keith insisted. "I've waited so long already! I have to take this chance."

A barrage of images slammed into Shiro's head, enough to make him sway, hand to his temples. "Five more airships have joined the Daibazaal command ships." 

Keith made an exasperated sound, somewhere between a growl and a groan. 

"I'm sorry," Shiro whispered, putting a hand on Keith's shoulder. "There will be a next time. I'll make sure of it. And we'll be ready, then."

"Princess!" A red-headed man. Allura's royal secretary.

Two women were right behind him. One wore the long dress of an attendant and looked about the man's age. Shiro couldn't place her name. The other wore leggings and fitted tunic similar to Allura's, and like Allura, wore a blade at her hip. Unlike Allura's, the second woman's was hilt was plain, the sheath undecorated. A personal guard, then. 

"Allura," Lotor said. "Take my airship. It bears the Daibazaal imperial mark. They won't attack it."

"What about you?" Allura shook her head. "I can't abandon Oriande. This is my home!"

Shouts echoed in the inner ward, people screaming, behemoths braying. Keith glanced up, swore under his breath, and nudged Shiro. Smoke curled around the ceiling. The castle's upper levels were burning, and the fire had reached the roof of the Inner Hall. Black's presence pushed again at Shiro's awareness. Smoke billowed across Black's vision, blocking its view of the approaching airships.

"They planned this too well, and we were caught off-guard." Hira took hold of Allura's arm. "We have no choice. We _must_ retreat."

Allura dug in her heels. "I can't—"

Lotor caught Allura's face between his hands and kissed her on the lips, close-mouthed, unhurried. Allura stilled, except for one hand, reaching up to curl fingers around Lotor's wrist. Lotor broke the kiss to whisper in her ear. She made a soft sound, like a choked-off sob, and Lotor stepped back, releasing her. 

Before Allura could say a word, Martan threw an arm around her waist, bodily hauling her away. Allura's startled yelp became a frantic wail. The sound echoed in Shiro's heart, long-buried memories slicing through him as though his own grief had never aged. He panted, and by the time he was back under control, the rest of Allura's people had left, except for the general. 

She'd halted in the doorway, looking back. "Do not think I can't see exactly how you orchestrated this, Prince. As for you, _slave_." Her hatred was white-hot, blazing across her face. "I know you told the other three to run from their duty like cowards. You do the same, and I _will_ find you. I will brand your crime across your forehead, and that will only be the _beginning_ of your suffering."  

She swept out of sight as Keith growled, low in his throat. 

"Not worth it," Shiro said. "Besides, maybe we'll get lucky and a panicked behemoth will trample her." 

Lotor looked to have ignored the entire exchange, busy talking in low tones to his two adjutants. One ran; the other stayed at his side. Lotor approached Shiro. "I expect you plan to follow your comrades. I need you to be out in front of my airship, to give the appearance of being chased. The warlords will assume I'm driving you away from defending the city, and leave you alone."

Keith bristled at the command. Shiro didn't particularly care for the prince's presumption, but he had no real argument with the idea. He tugged Keith backwards, towards the stairs. Black shoved at him to hurry, images suddenly coming fast enough to dizzy him. In the stairwell leading up to the battlements, Keith slung Shiro's arm over his shoulder, and put his arm around Shiro's back. The touch made Shiro falter, gasping. Keith eased his grip, moving his hand to Shiro's hip, instead.

"Lean on me," Keith said. "The steps are uneven."

"I'm trying." Shiro squinted against the lanterns lining the narrow stairwell. "I can't—seem to think."

"Yeah." Keith tightened his hold when Shiro's foot slipped on a narrower step. "Careful."

Shiro tried, but Black's onslaught tore at him, and he couldn't juggle it and the exhaustion threatening to take him down. Since the guards had called for him to wake, he'd concentrated on suppressing everything but what lay directly before him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could manage.

Keith pushed open the door to the central tower. Black was on its feet, wings spread. It turned around in the small space, crouching down. Shiro pulled back against Keith's hold.

"Wait. I need to see." He twisted out of Keith's grasp, catching a merlon to support him. "I need to see the city burn."

Oriande lay below him, half-hidden behind billowing black smoke. Here and there, red flames licked upwards through the smoke. The castle's tower was too far to hear the screams, but if Shiro closed his eyes, he could call up the memories.

"Shiro," Keith whispered. The great hall's roof blaze, the crackling loud. The wind shifted, pushing the smoke over them.

"Twelve years." Shiro blinked back the tears.

Beautiful, yet ugly. He'd loved it, and hated it. Thousands of people who'd never seen him, had never done anything to him. For each one, ten more who'd suffered under much worse burdens than him. A direct avenue to the crown, yet he'd been voiceless, powerless. The two oaths within his soul clashed and tangled. Shiro clung to the stone, scraping his palms, needing the sharp pain to center him.

Keith put a hand on Shiro's back, and Shiro reflexively cringed. The bruises were too deep. Keith's touch lightened, fingertips trailing across the rough cloth of Shiro's tunic.

"What happened?" Keith asked.

"Doesn't matter." Shiro pushed away from the parapet's edge. "It won't—"

The guardhouse's door banged open and Poltan charged onto the roof, two of his lieutenants right behind him. Poltan's shout was lost as the Great Hall's roof caved in. His lieutenants headed for Shiro. Behind them Poltan continued to shout, and pointed at the lion.

Shiro ignored him, along with Keith's confusion. For the first time in his life, there was no reason to hold back. He widened his stance, hands out, but before he could launch himself forward, Black moved.

Black growled and closed its mouth around one of the lieutenants. The other lieutenant yelled in terror, falling backwards. Black tossed its head, and threw the man right off the tower. The man's screams faded as he plummeted into the black smoke below.

"How did you know?" Shiro asked Black.

"How did who know what," Keith asked. "Who was he?"

"The man who whipped me last." Shiro couldn't look away from Black's satisfied eyes.

The lion tucked its wings in and knelt, almost crushing the remaining lieutenant, who screamed and fled. Poltan came forward, shouting.

"Hunh." Keith jerked a thumb at Poltan. "And this guy?"

"Who? Oh, the one who'd ordered it," Shiro said, absently. Something flashed in the smoky light: a blade in Keith's hand. Alarmed, Shiro yelled, "Wait, Keith—what are—"

Poltan halted, swayed, and fell flat on his back, silent. Blood splattered across the stones. Keith bent to wipe his knife on Poltan's tunic before tucking it away just as casually.

"He won't be making that order again." Keith tugged Shiro to Black. "Get on. I'll lead us out of here."

Shiro scrambled up the bone plates of Black's shoulders, startled to find a pocket at the base of Black's neck. He'd be exposed from the waist up, but at least he wouldn't fall. Black spread its wings, roaring, and Keith ran for Red. No sooner than Shiro figured out the two grips, Black leapt upwards.

Red was right ahead of them, stretched out as it leapt. Shiro bent over, forced himself up again when something prickled against his wrists. The bracelets felt warm to the touch.

No hints from Black, but Shiro twisted one bracelet around, curious. A square black stone, embedded in the silver, and the stone matched a divot in the bone-like substance that formed Blacks' exoskeleton. Black descended, the wind currents whipping Shiro's hair in his face. Ahead, Red smashed into a noble's roof, gathered itself, and leapt again.

Black detoured to the next house, and Shiro almost laughed when Black crushed the roof. He did laugh when Black misjudged and the house collapsed, forcing the huge lion to scramble free. It leapt upwards after Red.

Shiro returned his attention to the grips. One tug and the handle gave way, the grip lengthening and folding back to stretch up his hand and wrap around his wrist. He knew the instant the stone had made contact: Keith's whoops filled his ears.

"Keith?" Shiro asked.

"Shiro!" Keith laughed. "You figured it out!"

Lance's voice came next, as clear as if he stood at Shiro's shoulder. "We just passed the second river in the northern valley. Pidge swears she can see this flat-top mountain."

"I do," Pidge said. "It's a little to the right. The east, I mean. Is the princess with either of you?"

"No, she's using that guy's airship," Keith said. "Hold on—" Ahead, Red launched upwards, twisting around in mid-air, rolling, and coming upright.

Shiro braced himself for another clumsy landing from Black, but they weren't falling. Black soared effortlessly, though its wings remained folded. Red did another circular dive at Oriande's outermost wall, ringing the base of the castle-mountain. Black huffed in amusement as Red took out the gate, smashed one of the towers, and leapt upwards again to rejoin Black. Red roared back, tail lashing. Shiro had no idea who was having more fun, Red or Keith.

"I think I see them," Keith said. "A little east of us, but they're gaining."

Shiro spread his feet wider in the small pocket, leaning back. Every tanka he'd ever driven had stayed mostly on the ground, but the basic concept didn't seem that different. Shiro pulled with one hand and leaned. In a tanka, the move would make the machine compress and release into a leap.

Black's reaction was not unlike that, although in a horizontal direction rather than upward: it coiled into a mid-air crouch. Shiro had a split-second to brace himself, teeth gritted against the pain of pressing his back against Black's exoskeleton. And then Black surged forward, shooting past Red. It felt like kicking in the leg-thrusters on a tanka, but without the headache-inducing screech of a tanka's mechanics.

What else was similar between tanka and aitanka? He latched onto the question, turning his attention away from the pain sweeping through his body. His peripheral vision was almost gone; his hands were going numb. The other paladin's voice faded in and out, as if stretched and compressed. He needed something to focus on.

What else... Tanka had foot-rests. Shiro shifted his weight, sliding one foot sideways until he found a depression that fit his boot exactly. He found the second one, planted his feet, distantly pleased at the sensation his feet were locked in, somehow. It had to be how Keith kept throwing Red into those tumbling rolls without being thrown free.

Shiro twisted the grips, letting Black roll just enough for a glimpse of the earth, perhaps six hundred sticks or more below. They'd left behind the fields on the outskirts of Oriande, now flying over endless forests. Shiro's vision swam and he rolled Black upright again. 

The mountain lay directly ahead. Two mountains. No, three.

"Shiro… Shiro!" Keith yelled, startling Shiro out of his daze. "Stay with me!" Red caught up, hanging at Black's flank.

"I'm here," Shiro said. "I'm here, Keith."

"Pull up, Shiro," Keith said. "Only a little further. How're you doing?"

"Nothing wrong with me a little sleep wouldn't fix," Shiro admitted.

"Almost there." Keith's voice faded in and out. If the others were talking, Shiro couldn't hear them at all. He sank down, struggling back upright as Keith called his name again.

Black stayed silent. Shiro didn't have the energy to push questions at the lion, forced instead to listen to his mind skittering back and forth across his worries. Would the lion lose its strength and fall to the earth, if Shiro lost consciousness? Would it drain him until there was nothing left? Random images flashed beneath his eyelids, momentary dreams, snatches of long-ago events played upside-down.

"Shiro!" Keith shouted, hoarse. "Stay with me!"

"I'm here." Shiro shook his head and forced himself to focus.

The flat-top mountain lay directly ahead. In a single flash, he made a choice. He couldn't keep letting his strength drip through his fingers. He shoved one final thought at Black, adjusted his grip, and twisted both handles, hard. Black roared and put on a burst of speed, the force of the thrust almost blinding Shiro.

The mountain approached, too fast. Shiro yanked backwards, hard, but unevenly. Black's growl made Shiro's teeth chatter. He'd miscalculated. His uneven movements had thrown Black sideways, falling as the mountain rose. Shiro's vision went dark, his thoughts slipping into a tumble of broken promises and abandoned hopes.

From far off, Keith yelled his name. Black slammed into the ground, sliding along the road with the force of its fall. Boulders along the road exploded as Black plowed through them. Shiro held on, crouched in the pocket. Black banged up against something strong enough to halt it, almost throwing Shiro free.

He opened bleary eyes, blinking several times before anything made sense. The pass was too narrow for Black to enter sideways, but the traveller's cairn was unmistakable. Beyond it, three shapes loomed over the cairn, their eyes glowing in the last rays of the sun.

"Shiro!" Keith sounded frantic.

Something slammed into the ground, sending a final shiver through Black.

"I'm here," Shiro whispered, and passed out.


	10. Chapter 10

Hunk reached the Black lion right after Keith. It didn't look good. Shiro was too pale, too still, unmoving. Lance joined Hunk, though it wasn't clear whether Lance's muttering was about Shiro or the airship heading their way.

Pidge skidded to a halt, nearly running into Lance. "Is he dead?"

Keith looked up at that. Lance promptly caught Pidge by the shoulder, steering her around and back to the lions. "Leave this to Hunk. Let's get back to our lions. Just in case that airship decides to make trouble."

Hunk knelt beside Shiro, fingers to the man's neck. He pressed an ear to Shiro's chest. Heartbeat, breath. Hunk put his hands under Shiro's arms.

Keith stopped him. "His back… he's recovering from an injury."

"Over the shoulder, then."

It took both of them to drag Shiro out from the pocket. Hunk hoisted Shiro over his shoulder, Keith beside him, holding Shiro steady. Hunk gave the approaching airship a worried look.

"If that airship does get unfriendly, will this guy fit with you in Red?" Hunk eyed the smaller lion, crouched beside Black. "Should I put him in Yellow?"

"We should—" Keith's words were lost in the blast of wind from the airship passing overhead.

Hunk stared, awed. The only airships he'd seen were massive battleships. Compared to those, the sleek ship was positively tiny. Still big enough it had to be a skilled pilot at the helm, struggling to lower the ship. It came down behind the three lions, a precarious position, with the closer end of the narrow ship resting on the road. The sails retracted and a propeller kicked in at the far end of the ship, boosting it. A large drawbridge-like door banged open at the near end, and the princess came running.

"How bad is it?" Allura demanded. "Is he—"

"He's just out," Hunk said. "He's not waking to move that thing, that's for sure."

"Guys?" Lance yelled down from Blue's head. "You'd better hurry. Company's coming." He pointed out across the mountain ridge, towards the valley.

"What?" Allura shaded her eyes, squinting. "I can't see anything."

Hunk would've shrugged, but he didn't want to disturb Shiro too much. Enough times Lance's keen sight had been proven right in the past moon. "What should I—"

"Oh, on the ship." Allura turned, waving at a red-haired man. "Coran, can you find a room for Shiro? And a doctor."

"I can take him." Coran held out his arms.

"No," Keith said. "I'll—"

"Stop," Coran said, a bit sharply. "You two need to get your creatures on the airship."

A second, larger set of doors had opened along the airship's side. Green leapt upwards, entering the ship. It didn't even rock at the lion's weight. A woman appeared in the door, waving for Blue to enter next.

"We can't leave Black here," Allura said. "Can your lions carry it onto the ship?"

"How?" Hunk squinted at the airship's side door. "It's barely going to fit in there. Unless you want us to put it on top."

"Tell it to move." Keith wasn't actually looking at the princess. He was watching Coran carry Shiro's unconscious form, and looked impatient to follow. "You talked to Red. Why can't you talk to the rest of them?"

"Talk to it…" Allura pushed the hair out of her face, and bound it up in a messy knot. "Right."

Hunk left her to it, running back to Yellow, unsurprised to find the lion as uncertain as he was about hauling itself onto a ship that would soon be far off the ground. The lion entered the main belly of the ship, a massive open cavern. From his position on Yellow's neck, the ceiling beams were close enough for Hunk to reach up and touch them.

Yellow growled, but dutifully crouched down to scoot sideways under a large platform at the bow-end of the airship. Red was right behind them, leaping up gracefully to kneel down on the platform above Yellow. At the stern-end, maybe eighty feet away, Blue curled up beneath a platform. Green knelt above, eyes blazing in the hangar's gloom.

Hunk was out of Yellow immediately, running back to Black, Keith right with him. Allura stood before Black, two hands on Black's nose. Head bowed, eyes closed, she looked as though she were trying to push Black into standing.

"Keith, can you pilot it?" Hunk studied Allura's tense form. Her knees sagged, then her back. She fought back upright. Whatever Black was, it could sure suck up a person's strength.

"Do what?" Keith gave the unmoving lion a baffled look. "It's Shiro's lion."

"Yeah, but if you haven't noticed, the lions aren't always aware how big they are. Black moves wrong in that hangar, it's taking out a support. It's going to need guiding." Hunk waved him towards the pocket and head for Allura.

No sooner had Keith climbed in, Black's eyes opened, the glowing slits widening. Black heaved itself upright with a groan of creaking bone and metal. Its nose pulled away from Allura's hands, and she gave a soft cry.

She swayed backwards, stumbled to the side, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Hunk swept her up in his arms, stepping quickly to get out of Black's way. The lion moved like a creature sore from overuse, clumsy lurching steps. Keith's face was ablaze with determination, urging the lion into the airship.

Hunk glanced behind him once. Lance had been right. Four airships on the horizon, and moving fast. He carried Allura up the gangplank. It slammed shut behind him, leaving him in a half-dark entryway.

"This way," a woman said, catching Hunk's arm. "The stairs are steep, so go slow."

The ship rocked, gently. Yellow murmured in Hunk's head. Black had barely made it into the bay, and lay sprawled in an ungainly manner. In Yellow's opinion, Keith didn't look much better. Metal creaked, and the airship shuddered.

"They're opening the sails," the woman said, from ahead of Hunk. "We should be—"

The entire ship seemed to exhale, and Hunk knew the instant he no longer stood on anything supported by solid ground. It felt like having cotton stuffed in his ears. From the airship's depth, Yellow yowled.

"Airborne," the woman finished, satisfied.

Another small platform, and the stairs doubled back. A fourth landing, eight more steps and another landing. At the eighth, the stairwell opened into a hall. The woman beckoned. Allura hadn't stirred yet. Hunk set aside his worries and followed the woman to the room assigned to Allura.

 

 

 

Lotor stood on the parapet above the castle's west barbican, his banner flapping in the steady wind across the battlements. Allura had gotten out, along with the paladins; what bothered him more was the realization his mother had known of his father's plans. When they'd met in Chandra, she'd insisted he take a hundred soldiers of her personal guard.

Certainly his father had enemies, but Lotor had spent the previous ten years of his life at various academies, mostly in Dalteria and Vakar. Besides, most people mistook him for Altean; he had little of his father's Galra bombast. He wasn't sure whether he was glad to have given into her insistence, or annoyed she'd given him no warning. Possibly a little of both.

All around, the city burned. Late afternoon, yet the sun was completely obscured. The sky was black with smoke, the air acrid in his nostrils. The wind across the Altean valley had stirred up the flames even higher.

"Lotor," Ezor said. "We've freed the rest of the household."

"All chattel?" Lotor asked.

"Of course." Ezor didn't try to hide her disgust. "We took the chest we found in the minister's chamber and divided it among them. Ended up four gold crowns for each, roughly. They're evacuating through the east barbican."

"Excellent." Lotor didn't look back.

The airship approaching the castle bore Prorok's crest. The castle was no small outpost, but the warlord's ship cast a shadow that threw the entire castle into darkness. No landing this high up the city-mountain; too many rooftops shot up flames at uneven intervals, putting the airship's leviton rocks at risk. That left only one option.

Axca put fingers to her ears, listening. "Narti says the last of the Altean troops have surrendered."

"Oriande has fallen." Lotor straightened up. "Here they come."

The airship halted, sails retracting, stabilizer-propellers spinning, and threw down a rope ladder onto the northwestern tower. Two soldiers scaled quickly to the bottom, bracing the end. First came Prorok's lieutenants, then Prorok.

No blood stained his armor; as a commander, it had been a long time since he'd seen direct combat. That lack of recent experience made him no less dangerous, to enemy soldiers or Lotor himself.

"Welcome to Castle Oriande," Lotor said.

"Your father said you might be here." Prorok eyed the banner, then proceeded forward as if it weren't even worth more than a glance.

Barrel-chested like Lotor's father, with immense furred ears and peaked sideburns that reached to his cheekbones, Prorok's one feature that broke him from the mold of a perfect galra warlord were the two lower canines that hooked his upper lips. Beside him, his lieutenants' lean builds and narrow faces looked nearly adolescent.

Lotor turned in place, walking beside Prorok as an equal. Better than letting Prorok walk past him as if he, too, weren't worth more than passing mention.

"Then you're aware as my lady-mother's firstborn, I claim Altea in her name," Lotor said.

"So I've heard." Prorok stopped at the edge of the parapet, thick brows raised at the blood stains splattered across the stones. "The castle defended itself?"

"Not exactly." It was Lotor's turn to dismiss the view without a further look. "Some of the ministers seemed to be convinced they'd be rewarded for supporting my mother's claim."

"How many had she arranged with?" Prorok clasped his hands behind his back.

They strolled the wallwalk, Prorok's attention on the burning city. The Great Hall's roof continued to smoke, though the castle's core staff had saved the southwestern tower.

"Ten," Lotor said.

Prorok paused, giving Lotor a sharp look. True, there was a lot of blood.

"The rest simply annoyed me." Lotor shrugged.

"Fair enough. And the household slaves?"

"Fled."

"Of course." Prorok stopped on the southwestern tower, studying the scorch marks along the wallwalk. About halfway down, it had collapsed into the Great Hall when the roof had given way. "How much of the castle's interiors were damaged?"

"The Great Hall, the Inner Hall, and the upper ministerial chambers," Lotor said.

"I see." Prorok's lips flattened, except for the permanent curl where his protruding canines pushed at his upper lips. "I will report this to your father, of course. After I tell him that contrary to original reports, you were not airborne and attempting to capture Altea's guardians."

Lotor cursed his Altean ears for involuntarily flattening against his head. "I had left the airship on the plateau just below the city. I believe some Altean nobles hijacked it."

"I sent four of my ships after it." Prorok turned back to watch a second warship lowering itself within rope range of the southeastern tower. "There's Commander Trugg. I expect Commander Throk to be along shortly."

Four ships, chasing Lotor's little airship. It was sleek and fast, and as long as the skeleton crew left to pilot it was willing to obey his orders to treat Allura as himself, she'd be able to stay ahead of the more cumbersome imperial battleships. If she delayed, or let up her guard, they would be on her instantly. Lotor said nothing, unwilling to give himself away.

"Make no mistake," Prorok continued, too casually. "Your airship would be no match for those guardians, if they're half what the legends say. But now that I know you're safely here, I'll have my ships retrieve the airship intact, if possible."

The last two words hung in the smoky air, and Lotor held back the usual diplomatic non-comment he might've made. Another hour, and Prorok would have Lotor's forces outnumbered. The outcome was inevitable; it was only a matter of the timing.

"However, there's no need to wait. You are a student, not an officer, Prince Lotor." Prorok's lips curled, amused at his own tolerance. "I will have Commander Trugg escort you back to Daibazaal. You may report personally to your father of your unexpected adventures."

Lotor was left on the parapet, fuming and doing his best to hide it. He knew Axca and Ezor were exchanging looks, able to read the body language even if they hadn't overheard the full exchange.

Below him in every direction, the city continued to burn.

 

 

 

Pidge cradled the bowl in her arm and shoved another handful of katar chips into her mouth, ignoring the tingling in her hands. She'd been feeling it ever since she'd tried to stop that general's attack on Lance, though at least the bouts of dizziness had mostly faded.

She'd travelled in plenty of airships, accompanying her mother on various assignments, but never one outfitted as generously as this one. Brass knobs on the doors. Polished floors that glowed in the spots of light from hanging quintessence lanterns. A stateroom almost the size of the room she'd once had.

And a bed probably three times the prison cells that currently held her brother, her mother, her uncle, two cousins, and her great-uncle.

They'd been in the air a little over an hour. Seven people crewed the airship, and their captain—a stocky Chandran named Platt—had told the Alteans the airship was theirs to command, by Prince Lotor's orders. According to Lance, at least, who'd somehow weaseled his way into the meeting. There was something about Lance that she didn't quite trust, but he'd proven remarkably good at overhearing a lot more than he was maybe supposed to.

In the same vein, Hunk had talked his way into the kitchen and promptly opened the larders. Pidge wanted to give herself points for being open-minded enough to accept food prepared by a Balmeran, but really, she'd been starving. Her stomach wasn't going to let her be picky, especially with her lack of kitchen skills.

Truth was, she'd been a little in awe after a half-hour talking with Hunk. In some ways, he was a lot like the stories about his people: an engineer who understood the language of stone, enough to extract rare metals just by asking rocks to break apart. Except Hunk clearly didn't have a heart of stone, anymore than he had horns under his orange forehead sash. His family was everything to him, as much as Pidge's was to her—but her attempts had been hollow and fruitless compared to everything Hunk had done.

Lance had swung by the kitchen to report in another hour or so, they'd reach the river that divided Altea from Vakar. There, they'd turn south, skirting Vakar, crossing into Olkarion territory. From there, they'd turn east and cross the outer sea for Reiphod.

It was awfully roundabout, but that woman—the Altean general—had taken command, and decided losing their pursuers took highest priority. The airship's navigator had chosen to use the pillars of east Vakar to manage that. Once they crossed the Neqal river, it'd be two hours or more of threading the narrow vertical columns and labyrinthine ravines. The imperial warships wouldn't be able to follow, and with night falling, they could slip away.

Easy-peasy, as Hunk had said, as long as the navigator didn't fly them right into a pillar. Pidge had to agree with him. There was a reason Vakarian airships flew over the pillars, not through them.

Pidge turned a corner, counting the doors to remember which one she'd been assigned. It was three doors down from the one marked with a small crown—where the half-Galra paladin leaned against the wall, face as dark as a thundercloud. With his Galra marks—unusual for being asymmetric—she'd thought him as intimidating and standoffish as the rest of his race.

Then she'd seen him visibly upset when he'd been locked out of the room where Shiro and the princess had been taken to rest, under the care of the princess' attendants. Keith might fit a lot of the stories about the Marmora, but like Hunk, there was a lot he didn't fit. He looked asleep on his feet, eyes closed, but he looked up as she passed.

"You're Vakarian," he said. "You were using Vakarian finger-gestures to stop that Altean general."

"Yeah." Did the Marmora have a thing against that? "Uh, thanks for catching me. Back there. That was some major backlash."

"Can you boost a signal?" Keith pushed away from the wall, into the lantern's circle of light. The shadows faded from his face, revealing someone only a few years older than her, and just as exhausted. "No one on this ship has more than rudimentary knowledge of medicine."

She hadn't even thought of that. "How bad is it?"

Keith crossed his arms, not quite looking at her. It was answer enough.

"It depends on the signal, I guess." Pidge wriggled her fingers. They still worked, mostly. "What kind are we talking?"

"A Marmora flare."

Pidge frowned. "Like, some kind of fireworks?"

"Not exactly. It's not visible. It's more like a pocket of sound, but normally they only work over short distances."

"Sound." Pidge considered every trick she knew, sorting through the ones related to sound. Lure, cast, call, listen… "I might be able to come up with something. Not sure how we'd test it, though."

"I can tell you if it's worked," Keith said. "But I only have three."

"Alright. Let me put this in my room. There should be a lookout balcony near the ship's bow." Pidge paused at Keith's baffled look. "What?"

"The bow?"

"Front of the ship. Red's end. Also where the bridge is, on the top-most level. Back of the ship is the stern. Green's end."

It took a quarter-hour of trekking up and down the narrow staircases before she found the lookout balcony, on the same level as the stateroom quarters. The flare was more like a marble. Solid between her fingers, yet it quivered as though a live creature—or a loud shout—had been trapped within.

"Alright, let's try this…" Pidge held the marble between two fingers, and plucked the casts she'd tucked into her cloak-edge. Four layers, five, six, seven. That should spread the call out across a mile. Farther, maybe, now that they flew over the broad rolling forests around the Neqal river. "Here goes."

She popped the marble with a finger snap, reeling back at the sudden burst of sound. The wind over the balcony carried it away. One down. Pidge swung her arms, stomped her feet, getting the blood flowing a bit more. The wind slapped her cheeks and stung her exposed hands as she checked along her cloak for another set of possible casts she could use.

Keith listened with his head cocked to the side. "It worked," he said.

A goblin whistle, then. Like a dog whistle, but Pidge knew better to say that out loud, especially since a worse thought had popped into her head. "Hold on. Did I just help you tell the imperial ships where to find us? They're Galra, too."

"So?" Keith pushed his unruly dark hair from his face, and tugged his earlobe up so she could see the back. A single round stone was pasted against his skin. "They don't have receivers."

"Oh. That's cool. Another one?"

"Yeah."

Another marble, this time with twelve layers. Pidge popped it, and the sound scattered. Keith studied the land below, and leaned over the edge to squint at the distant spires of Neqal. Pidge grumbled silently. She should be getting Green out now, somehow, and heading for Vakar before the airship carried her too far away.

Green immediately responded with a sullen reminder that Pidge had promised some nifty additions.

"We can do the last one," Pidge offered.

"I'd rather save it." Keith's smile was almost shy. "Thanks."

"Yeah, sure." Pidge thumbed over her shoulder. "I've got a lion to see. You need anything else, I'll be in the hangar on Green's platform."

 

 

 

Keith climbed up Red leg to sit cross-legged on the lion's head.

The lion rumbled, a bored complaint.

"Red, could you hear the flare, earlier?" Keith asked.

Red could, but had considered it part of the noise of an airship, which was a new—and to Red's disgust—rather boring experience.

Keith patted Red, and grinned when the lion chuffed. "You think you could hear if someone responded with the same kind of signal?"

For a moment Red was still, then a shiver ran through the lion's frame. Red was willing to try. That was good enough for Keith.

He rolled backwards over Red's head, slid down Red's neck, twisting to land feet-first in the pocket, hands on the grips. The bone exoskeleton extended, wrapping around his wrists like a comfortable vise. Keith planted his feet, gauging the narrow space alongside the unmoving Black guardian. Getting down from the platform and into that space without landing on Black's head was going to take agility.

Red balked, uneasy. The ceiling was too low, the walls too closed-in. Keith dug in his heels, insisting, then yelped as the surface beneath him gave way. He dropped into Red as if swallowed whole.

The exoskeleton closed over his head, trapping him in the darkness. He still held the grips, but he shouted again, startled, as the bone locked around his wrist extended section by section up his arms. Around his feet, then his ankles, more segments locked around him, each one latching into place before the next wrapped around him. Up his calves to his thighs, the final segment branched upwards to become a protrusion at his hips.

Three more segments locked around his waist. Like the rest, the segments were close-fitting, but not constricting. The ones around his arms had reached his shoulders, while the grip itself had stretched across his palm, pushing his hand open and becoming jointed rings down his fingers.

The pieces at his shoulders extended across his chest and back, locking together in the middle of his sternum. Another branch upwards, this one stretching over his shoulders, crossing at the back of his neck to wrap up and around and meet at his forehead.

The entire process had taken perhaps two heartbeats.

With no other option, he forced himself to relax. One breath, and the darkness was shattered by light. It stretched from about his knees to the top of his head, curling around him like he stood within a column, half of it cut away as a window.

He blinked, eyes adjusting, and realized the view was much as he'd seen from Red's neck. The wall of the airship's hangar, the close ceiling, the broad platform beneath. Although more like what he would've seen, without Red's massive head in the way.

Red's awareness penetrated Keith's bewilderment. Red thought Keith's shock hilarious, and it took a few more breaths to get Red to calm down and explain: they were now together.

Shared vision, shared sensation, shared control.

"Then let's see how agile we can be, now," Keith told the lion.

He tightened his hand into a fist, testing. A scraping, clawing sound echoed in his ears. He instinctively looked down. The view shifted, and he knew Red was regarding their foreclaws. Deep gouges marked the wood.

The first few steps were awkward. Keith was used to thinking of himself as upright, while Red's view of the world meant being at rest was having four feet on the ground. It was soon apparent Keith didn't need to exaggerate his movements, either. The one time he did, Red banged into the wall, and proceeded to dig in their claws and laugh at Keith for another long moment.

"Fine, you drive." Keith grinned, settling himself into the oddly suspended embrace.

Red's barrage of images were confusing, but the general idea seemed to be that Keith was needed for the subtle movements. Hunk hadn't been far off when he'd said the lions didn't seem to truly understand the amount of space they occupied. Step by step, Red turned on the platform, and Keith eyed the jump. Red coiled and Keith gathered himself.

The leap down to the lower platform reminded Keith of training for a new fighting move: acting it out, in place, without the full force. Yet somehow the segments wrapped around him provided a kind of sensory feedback as though his muscles had bunched and released. The landing jolted him, slightly. He bent his knees, drew in his arms, and and Red settled into a crouch. Keith tilted his head, and Red did the same.

The door's locking mechanism was right there. Keith raised a hand, pointing a finger, awed at the sight of Red's paw coming up, a single claw extended.

"Hey!" Someone shouted, too small to be a threat, but too close to ignore.

Keith looked around, back and forth, before looking down. One of the ship's crews stood by the door, waving up at the lion. Red growled and lashed his tail, unimpressed.

"The goal is for us to get out," Keith reminded the lion. "Not to throw someone else out with us."

He pulled his arms in, tilting himself forward, and Red reluctantly lowered his nose to the Chandran crew member. The woman back up several steps, curly white hair almost standing on end. Red slid a paw forward, prodding the woman to keep backing up. Once she was clear of the doors, Keith turned his attention back to the mechanism.

They tapped a single claw on the bar, caught the handle, and pulled it down. The gangplank doors flew open. The woman screamed and caught hold of the nearest support pillar. Red whipped his tail, chuffing in excitement.

"Let's go, kitty," Keith said, and they leapt into the open air.

Red's eyes glowed, immense lanterns lighting their way. Not quite as bright as the greater moon, but enough on a moonless night. They turned in mid-air as the airship continued on its way. Far below lay the night-lit city of Neqal, tucked into the fork where two rivers met. To the right was the Neqal river, to the left, the Takkal.

"Let's take the Takkal," Keith said.

Red roared, delighted, and swept down to run above the tree-tops, following the river. It wasn't quite like Keith was running, though his heart pounded with the lion's exertions. His vision seemed to adapt as well, turning the world into shades of well-lit gray, touched with gold where the lion's eyesight-lights fell on details.

Keith's legs moved in time with Red's, but barely moved, same as his arms. He leaned, calculated, flexed, reached, no longer sure where he ended and Red began.

Gradually the river climbed into the valley between two mountain ridges, cutting a narrow twisting ravine through the night landscape. Keith couldn't resist. He twisted, leaned, stretched one hand, and Red made an abrupt turn in mid-air to land on a vertical cliff face, claws digging in.

Red lashed his tail, roared, then did it again as the surrounding cliff-faces echoed the sound back at them. Keith laughed and Red rumbled in agreement, launching itself upward.

"Time to start listening for beacons." Keith had no idea of distance, but somewhere along here was where the Marmora crossed. If he could find the spot and determine who'd passed, he'd know whether to follow the trail east or west.

Red rumbled when he picked up the beacon's faint call, rising up to stretch out in a long leap above the river. Red's gaze swept back and forth between the cliffs, seeking the beacon's source. A second sound gradually vibrated in Keith's ears: an answering flare. Pidge's adaptations had reached as far as Keith had hoped.

Keith brought Red around, pausing before diving down to land on the cliff's edge. The beacon was tucked into the cliff's edge. If Keith listened with his own ears, the call was a soft note. With Red's ears, the call was nearly klaxon-levels so close. Red snarled, not liking the sensation.

"Sorry, Red," Keith said, yanking backwards when Red wanted to smash the beacon. "No, leave it. My people use that." He swung his head, forcing Red to look around, distracting the lion from the annoyance.

Two figures stepped out of the forest's shadows, and Red crouched low, mouth open. The figures stopped, and Keith almost waved in greeting. Red's right foreclaws flexed, and the lion rumbled a question.

"Sorry," Keith muttered. "Habit."

Red snuffled, tasting the air. There was something about the scents on the two people, that made Red think of Keith. Immediately Red sent a flurry of memories at Keith. Some recent, some before they'd met, some in Red's previous lives. Along with it, the knowledge of how to use Red's voice to speak.

"Thace, Ulaz," Keith said. "It's me. Us. This is Red."

Thace stepped forward, hand raised against the glare of Red's eyes. "Hello, Red. Keith, what are you doing here?"

"I need Ulaz. Well, Ulaz's skill. The Black Paladin—it's Shiro, the one you brought back from Nalquod. Something's wrong, and we have no one with doctoring skills."

"You have no doctors in Oriande?" Ulaz bent his head to Thace, the two conferring softly.

Keith muttered under his breath at Red, who'd leaned forwards to eavesdrop. He'd always done his best to ignore their whispered conferences. He wasn't going to break that rule now, just because he had the loan of Red's phenomenal hearing.

"There is no more Oriande," Keith finally said. "Altea's fallen. Daibazaal attacked it, this afternoon. We had to flee, and Shiro got hurt. It's been three hours. More, I guess, and he's still not awake."

"I can at least take a look," Ulaz said. "Except… where are you? I hear your voice from that creature, but where are you?"

"It's a long story, but—"

"He's fine," a new voice said, and the Blue Lion landed on the cliff opposite. "So this was your reason for running away."

"I didn't run away!" Keith's protest mingled with Red's snarl. "Shiro needs a doctor."

"So does the princess." Blue leapt across the ravine, coming down hard on the last open space of the cliff. A tight squeeze, especially with Blue's bulk. "I'll take one, and you take the other. We need to get back, though. The Alteans are losing their shit, and I don't want to think about what that general will do to Pidge or Hunk if we're not back fast enough."

"You need to get off this cliff," Keith countered. "It's not big enough—"

"Whatever." Blue bent down to peer at the two, settling on Ulaz. "We'll take you. Climb up our legs, you'll find a pocket at the base of the neck. Have a seat, get yourself out of the wind."

"Hey," Keith said.

Red rumbled at Blue, who huffed, swished her tail, and craned her neck to make sure Ulaz was settled in. "You took your sweet time playing on your way here," Lance called out. "Now we need to get back twice as fast to make up for that."

Keith sighed, and Red laid their head down before Thace.

"This isn't going to fit on a messenger bird's ankle-paper," Thace said, but he didn't seem displeased. He hefted the pack across his back, climbing up Red's exoskeleton with the same grace he had climbing sheer rock cliffs. Thace settled into the pocket with a quiet laugh.

"Here we go," Keith warned.

Red launched upwards. A few leaps in mid-air, but Blue increased her own speed, keeping Red behind her. Keith thought of Black blasting away from him. How had Shiro done that? Keith flexed his fingers, feeling the remains of the grip across his palm. He relaxed, clearing his mind.

Red's mechanical parts stretched and creaked, in time with the wind whistling along Red's armor. There had to be more to their partnership. Keith couldn't possibly be only a power supply, a food source, a better control for fine motor movement. On impulse, Keith clenched his fists and twisted his wrists.

Red threw his head back, flames shooting forward. The stream of flame nicked Blue's tail, and the blue lion turned to give Red a furious roar. Keith considered apologizing and decided against it. Blue snarled. Red was about to respond in kind, but Keith was onto his next test.

He flipped his wrists, yanked up, and shoved forward. Thrusters flared from Red's back legs, and the lion's snarl was a challenge. Red caught Blue's ribs with a well-timed swipe, and shot past. At the last second Keith remembered Thace's presence, and pulled back from the barrel roll.

Blue roared behind him, challenge accepted.

"Oh, she did  _not_ like that." Lance laughed. "Don't blame me if she retaliates. I'm not getting in the middle of a cat fight."

Blue kicked into gear. She didn't have half of Red's sudden thrust, but she made up for it with stamina. By the time she'd almost caught up, Keith could feel Red tiring. The lion snarled, frustrated.

"Let's try something different," Keith suggested. "Thace, you still there? Brace yourself."

"Consider me braced," came Thace's soft reply. His voice was close, as if he stood at Keith's shoulder. "A cover slid over me once I ducked down. I can see, but there's something solid there. In case your lion wants to try something as crazy as you would."

Keith considered protesting his innocence, but tossed the impulse aside. Thace would never believe him, either.

"Lance?" Keith asked. "Is Ulaz alright?"

"I'm fine," Ulaz said. "This seemed like a good time to take a nap, but you five keep talking."

"Blue's talking because she likes you." From Lance's tone, he was definitely grinning. "Can't say much for her taste in men, but seeing how she likes me, maybe liking you is just an aberration."

"Hunh," Ulaz said, and a moment later, snoring filled the link. Noisy snoring. It continued until the two lions had fallen silent, at which point Ulaz halted, point made.

Keith twisted and yanked, and Red shot forward again. It held the lead until Blue was far behind, and then landed on a cliff-face, claws digging in. Red's entire body heaved with the exertion. Sweat dripped down Keith's face, fingers tensed to hold them in place. By the time Red had calmed, Blue caught up. Red leapt, sprinting ahead, landing again.

Blue was bigger, not quite as agile, but there was no doubt she had stamina. Keith suspected the same would be true of Yellow, and if that were so, Black had to be even slower, but able to go all day and then some.

 _Farther_ , Red whispered, a rare word to augment the image.

"Black's crossed the inland sea in one flight?" Keith was exhausted, and they'd only been travelling for an hour, maybe a little more. Without the greater and lesser moons to note the time, he wasn't sure.

"Which way?" Lance asked. "Widest stretch from east to west is Vakar to Vendalia, and that's four-hundred-fifty miles."

"North to south," Keith guessed, from the images.

Lance whistled. "That's almost six hundred miles. Only the craziest would swim that in one go."

Red rumbled, disgruntled at the thought of that much water. Keith sent back images of fireplace hearths and courtyard bonfires until Red relaxed enough to dismiss the annoyance.

They landed again, harder this time, enough to jolt Thace as well. Red's head drooped, tail barely lashing as they waited for Blue to catch up. When Red leapt again, Blue slowed further, and Keith realized that despite Lance's previous teasing, he wasn't unkind. Their next stop lasted longer, Blue seemingly content to find her preferred speed and stay with it.

That was fine, but Keith felt drenched in sweat. Red's frame trembled, a complaining creaking that tightened the braces around Keith's waist and chest. The two of them were nearing exhaustion. Keith fought to hold on.

"Tell me what happened since we left Oriande," Thace said, quietly. "Last we heard, Daibazaal was staging for an attack on Thaldycon, or possibly Chandra."

Keith was glad to tell. It gave him something to focus on, other than the deep ache in his muscles. Lance added in a few words of what he'd heard among the airship's crew. Keith's vision was starting to gray, Red's own view dimming, when Lance made the call.

"There's the airship," Lance said. "Looks maybe three miles off to the south-west."

"Where?" Keith couldn't see anything that far in the darkness. Neither could Red, who rumbled a question. "How far south-west? Should we be turning?"

"We'll take lead," Lance said. "Follow the light."

Blue pulled ahead, and the end of her tail lit up, like a cannon charging. Keith made a note of that, certain it was another weapon waiting to be found. He'd need to figure out the right pattern of movements. Blue swept downward, and Red followed closely. Blue careened among the pillars, twisting one way, then the other. It was a sign of Red's own fatigue that the lion barely paid the pillars any mind.

The airship lay ahead. Blue roared, and the airship's stern lights blinked, a message. Blue pulled alongside and the hangar doors opened. Blue twisted in mid-air and pulled itself inside.

"Get this done and then we can rest, Kitty." Keith managed a final burst to bring them alongside the airship.

Blue's tail swept the deck and withdrew as the lion took its place under the platform. Red tried to leap and ended up doing more of a scramble, eventually ending up beside Black. Red eyed the upper platform, grumbling, but obediently coiled and jumped. It overshot, banged its head on the ceiling, snarled at Keith for the indignity, and lay down. Almost immediately the exoskeleton expanded and contracted like a deep, tired sigh, and Red's eyes closed.

Keith found himself in complete darkness again. He reached upwards, half-aware the segments hadn't retracted, and uncaring when something withdrew above him. An opening. Two strong hands reached down, caught his, and pulled him upwards.

He stood in the pocket, leaning against Thace. Something felt wrong, and Keith raised an arm, almost shaking from the effort. Something hard covered his arm, glittering in the hangar's dim light. Greaves on his calves, cuisse on his thights, a plackart around his waist, a breastplate above. Gauntlets on his hands and wrists, leading to vambraces on his forearms, rerebraces on his upper arms, pauldrons over his shoulders, even a helm on his head. He reached up, feeling along the close-fitting helm, almost yelping when the helm retracted, as if folding itself into the gorget around his neck. What had fit perfectly within Red now did feel ill-fitting. 

"Armor," Thace said, chuckling. "Seems a bit much, on top of your Marmora armor. They assigned you quarters, right? Let's get you there, and I can show you how to get out of this." Thace ended up guiding Keith halfway, then jumping down to catch Keith's semi-controlled fall.

"What is the meaning of this?" That Altean general stood on the lower deck by Black's head.

Keith limped to the platform's edge. "I brought someone with medical skills. For Shiro and the princess."

The woman glared at him, then nodded. "Very well. A warning, boy: leave without notifying anyone again, and next time we'll consider it abandonment of your position." She turned on her heel and left, two of the Altean soldiers trailing behind her.

"That's her way of saying thank-you," Lance drawled. He sat on Blue's head, legs hanging down. "Hey, Red, why does your Paladin get armor? Blue, have you been holding out on me?"

Blue's huffing was noisy in the hangar. Above Blue, Green rumbled, stretching its claws and tapping them against the wood. Sparks lit, little flashes, and Pidge appeared at Green's neck, giving a victory whoop.

"I don't know why I have it," Keith said. "It didn't retract when I tried to get out."

"Hunh." Lance leaned back on his hands, legs kicking.

"Welcome back," Hunk called, from right below Keith. "Come on down, I figured you'd come back hungry. Did I hear you got a doctor?"

"One of my teachers," Keith said. He let Thace go first, then followed, too exhausted to care that he needed Thace's help. "Ulaz is a surgeon by training."

"Oh, good." Hunk peered at Thace, but didn't offer his hand. Keith made the introductions, and Hunk beamed. "Don't worry, there's enough for everyone."

"Awesome!" Lance clambered down from Blue, Pidge right behind him. "I'm starving."

"That's Blue talking—" Pidge gave Lance a startled look. "That _is_ your stomach?"

"Told you I was starving. Come on, Keith, Thace, is it? By the way, Ulaz was out and gone immediately, said he's been on airships, he knew where to find the staterooms. Last one to the table's a rotten duck!"

"Hey!" Pidge shoved Lance and bolted forward.

Lance followed, unhurried, grinning.

Thace watched the two go, his expression bland but his lips curled at the edges. He glanced down at Keith. "So these are Altea's legendary guardians?"

"You can go ahead and say it." Keith sighed. "No wonder Altea's in trouble."

"Not at all what I'd say." Thace slung Keith's arm over his shoulder, guiding him towards the corridor where the other paladins had gone. "It may be you bring a hope Altea has not had for a very long time."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotten into listening to music again while writing, using spotify's playlists the way I used to use my ipod. One particular track kept coming around, and I put it on repeat for most of this chapter, [Remember Not to Forget](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4M2rDHGE1cs) by Audiomachine. A curious serendipity that I didn't realize the title until I was revising, how apt. <3

Lance lay on his back along Blue's spine, hands folded under his head, dozing in the hangar's dim light and telling Blue about home.

Probably an hour or two after midnight. The captain had slowed the airship in the difficult narrows of the pillars; if they'd flown over, it would've taken a little over an hour. Between their reduced speed and the maze-like trail, they wouldn't reach the coast until dawn.

Blue responded with images of unfamiliar waters, the blurry stories tasting like memories. In four years, he'd gotten pretty good about burying his homesickness, It was a lot harder when he could feel hints of the same coming back at him.

"Hey, Lance." Pidge leaned over the platform above, giving him a curious look. "Are you not heading to bed?"

"I'm fine here." Lance shrugged. "Besides, last I saw, Hira was pacing the corridor waiting for word on the princess. I'd rather stay out of her way."

"It's not like there's only one way to your stateroom." Pidge disappeared, footsteps light, scaling the ladder down to Blue's level. "Most airships are laid out basically the same. I can show you, if you want."

"Maybe in the morning. As long as that woman's still wearing those rings, I'd rather stay where I've got backup." He tilted his head to grin down at Pidge. "Really powerful backup."

Pidge sighed. "Was it that bad?"

"Let's just say six lifetimes from now would be too soon for a repeat." It helped to feel Blue's reassuring rumble vibrating deep in her chest. "Hunk told me you tried to break it, though."

"Tried, sure. Achieved nothing."

"You still tried, and I appreciate that." He appreciated more that she kept her hands in plain sight, but he could leave that for later. 

Pidge's smile was crooked. "Gonna head to the kitchen, see if I can manage a late-night snack."

Blue raised her head, eyes gleaming, to watch Pidge walk away.

Lance rolled over on his stomach. "What is it?"

Blue snorted, turning her head to stare at him, eyes narrowed. Flashes of images that made no sense, some so blurry he couldn't even make out details. The most he could guess was that something in Pidge worried Blue, but that Blue herself had forgotten whatever event had taught her that lesson.

"Then we stay here and watch," he whispered, stroking her armor with light fingers. "If Green tries to pull Red's stunt… though this time, we'll say something, not just follow silently."

Blue's eyes became narrow slits, and she huffed. She'd been insistent they could trail Red without being caught. There seemed to be history there, but he'd already teased her too much, and gotten the silent treatment for it.

Well, for all of maybe a quarter-hour. Blue couldn't hold grudges any better than he could, but she had secrets, too. Lance stretched out, head pillowed on his forearms.

"I guess we've got more in common than I realized," he whispered.

Idly he turned one wrist, staring at the blue stone. A dull blue in the hangar's dim light, but he'd studied it enough already. Almost turquoise, with tiny streaks of a deeper blue. Were they only for hooking into the lions' controls? Keith had gotten armor, after all. On impulse he brought his wrists together and knocked the stones against each other.

Light flared from his wrists. Lance sat up, scrambling backwards as if he could put distance between himself and the bracelets—no longer bracelets, but silver rippling up his arms. He blinked, and the armor was solid. He touched the greaves on his calves, tentative, awed.

Beautiful, burnished silver, and damned uncomfortable. Lance tapped his knuckles against the plackart around his waist, mildly irritated. The piece retracted as if liquid, and Lance stared at the rest of his armor in shocked delight. He tapped one rerebrace, giggling as it withdrew like a shy creature. He tapped the spaulder on that shoulder, and the rerebrace slid out again, meeting up with the vambrace as though it'd never been missing.

Blue paid him no mind until he'd released every piece of armor—and then returned it—at least three times. She sighed heavily, raising her head to look at him over her shoulder.

"Hey," he said, having settled on the vambraces and gorget as a good stopping place. "I know you've seen it plenty of times, but it's a first for me. Besides, your armor is amazing."

Her rumble was flattered, and he laughed, laying down again, arms spread across her back.

"Alright, then," he said, pleased he'd unlocked at least one of her secrets, enough to find the boldness to ask for more. "So you're not best friends with Red, but what about Green?"

Blue growled softly, lowering her head. Her images were messy, but enough to get a sense: Blue didn't appreciate that Green always had its own ideas. Lance buried his face against her exoskeleton, tickled. Blue always fetched the wayward ones, it seemed.

"What about Yellow?" Lance prodded.

Yellow had always been solid, trustworthy. A good partner.

"Hunk's like that, too." Lance propped his chin on his hands. The other lions lay like sleeping cats, except for Black, sprawled in the center of the hangar. "And Black?"

Blue was silent, long enough Lance started to doubt the wisdom of asking. Her response was unlike anything else she'd communicated. Neither image, nor the rare word, nor even a sound. It was a sensation: the coldest moonless night, the hush of the sky during snowfall.

Lance closed the armor back to his bracelets. He was chilled to the bone, and the metal didn't help. In his head, Blue's thoughts had shades of emotion. Towards Red, she had a long-suffering affection. Towards Green, an exasperated amusement. Towards Yellow, a comfortable comradery.

But for Black, she felt awe, respect, and a hint of fear.

Lance jumped down from her back, studying the Black Lion's shape before walking around to look Blue in the face. In his head, she felt wary, uncertain. Maybe he was asking more than she was ready to tell, but he needed to know. He owed her the decency of asking to her face, at least.

"Why?" Lance spread his hands, as if he could ever encompass her power, her strength, in one gesture. "What could exist that _you_ would fear?"

Blue closed her eyes, but at least she didn't growl at him. Or eat him.

Lance thought it over, knowing he should drop it, but unable to walk away. "Why Black? Is there something about Black in particular?"

Blue's eyes opened, searching him. She raised her head to study the Black Lion, finally lowering her nose to Lance's raised hands. Her words filtered into his head, as if carried on the current across a vast distance.

_Black remembers._

 

 

 

Allura's mind wandered as Hira lectured on the army's current positions. Defending them during the escape had propelled Martan into a position among Hira's lieutenants. Tador and Calsa had been swept along in the rush, while Donar and the other ministers had chosen to stay. Radala and Vara had come with her, but what had happened to the rest of Allura's household? Would the Galra abuse them, kill them? In a strange way, she couldn't help but hope the stories were true of Daibazaal, that they freed all slaves. Lotor had to have learned his distaste for chattel somewhere, and Dalteria was officially neutral on the subject.

But that reminded her of the darker side to the stories: Daibazaal executed chattel-owners without exception. Allura couldn't figure out whether she should hope for her household's safety, or mourn for the loss of everyone else she'd known.

"Princess," Hira said, sharply. "Do pay attention."

Allura swallowed her sigh. "I am."

The five others around the table were Hira's lieutenants and sub-commanders. Coran stood behind Allura's chair, and she wasn't sure whether he stood ready to spring to her defense, or chastise her if she spoke out of turn. What she really wanted was that comfortable bed; failing that, a blanket. Airships were far colder than she'd expected. 

"Juger," Hira said, to her primary adjutant. "What's the status of the airship's army kites?"

"A dozen in the hold, well-maintained." Juger was a few years older than Martan, with a build and profile that could've passed for aristocratic. It was ruined by the bump in his nose from a badly-healed break. "The captain said a good drop-off point is coming up. It'll put them on a route directly out of the narrows."

Allura sat up straighter, annoyed at her own lack of attention. "Where are you sending them?"

"To Vakar," Hira said. "We need at least three magi. The airship has messenger-birds, but they're all Dalterian. Juger, how long before we reach that point?"

"Captain estimated about two hours, at our speed."

"An army kite is barely faster than a running behemoth," Allura said. "A lion could make it there in two hours."

Hira studied the map pinned to the wall. Her left hand was on her hip while she thought, and the rings glinted in the lantern's light. Allura kept her expression neutral, doing her best not to stare. She needed to get those rings back, even if only to demonstrate goodwill towards the paladins. Simply asking had gotten Allura nowhere, enough that she knew—and was certain Hira was equally aware—that an outright command was too risky. All Hira would have to do was say no, and any last shreds of Allura's authority would be gone.

"I don't want them out of my sight," Hira finally said. "I expect the Daibazaal airships to be watching the major exits from the pillars. If we're unlucky enough to find them waiting, we'll need the guardians to clear the way for us."

An uncomfortable ripple spread across the table. Martan pressed his lips together, his usual cheeky grin gone. Tador frowned at the table's surface. Calsa rubbed her fingers together. Everyone there knew the guardians might not agree, for the first time in Altea's history, and at least three of the people at the table bore some of the blame.

Allura got up, heading for the door.

"Princess," Hira said. "We're not done."

Allura stopped, one hand on the doorknob. She'd used the lion's energy once before, and was tempted to call up that wellspring a second time. Hira was her minister of war, and a legendary general by Altean standards, but she was not the Queen. Allura was.

"Hira," Allura said, dropping any title. "You forget yourself." She turned, giving Hira a cold look. "Do not let it happen again."

Coran followed Allura into the hall. She didn't break her stride nor her silence until they reached the stairs at the end of the corridor.

"Am I wrong?" Allura whispered. "I'm not incompetent."

"Only untested," Coran said. "General Hira knows the battlefield. More importantly, she has Altea's best interests at heart."

"By treating me like I'm five? I need to get those rings back from her."

Coran shook his head. "You need to tell the paladins that for now, General Hira is their commanding officer, and they—"

"If they take anyone's command, it's _mine._  I am Queen, Coran. Those are _my_ lions."

"Princess," Coran said, gently. "They are _Altea's_. A Queen has always been their leader, effectively, but they act for Altea."

Too exhausted to care what Coran meant, Allura instead heard what he said. The implications nearly knocked the breath from her. If the Queen did not act in Altea's best interest, would the lions choose a new leader? Her family line had infrequent tangles; she vaguely recalled childhood lessons about the consequences of war on Altean soil. Each time, one line had ended, and the crown passed to a distant relative. Had the guardians played a role in those swerves in the dynastic line?

"Coran, do you know—" She hesitated at the tension around his eyes, and switched her words mid-sentence— "Whether Ulaz has finished seeing to the Black Paladin?"

A single creak of the stairs and Allura turned, a smile ready as the second Marmora came down the steps.

"Lord Thace," Allura said. "I must thank you again for coming to our aid."

"It was not a great hardship," Thace said. "I couldn't help but overhear your question. I heard Ulaz' verdict. Awake, recovered, and quite hungry."

"Ah, of course. Radala, fetch—" Allura looked around, startled to realize neither Radala nor Vara shadowed her. "Uhm."

"No need, princess. My student volunteered, but he's not returned." Thace's smile was rueful, affection obvious. "I expect he got lost, but now I'm afraid I've gotten turned around as well. Is this not the stair to the lower decks?"

"It's down this hall," Allura said, pointing back the way she'd come. "I'll show you."

He didn't protest, nor did he lose the smile, which broadened slightly to include her. She folded her hands before her, hoping he couldn't tell she'd had a twinge of suspicion as to a Marmora spy claiming to get lost. Their progress down the hall was silent; at the stairwell to the lower decks, Thace waved her down first.

She hadn't had reason to be on an airship in years, but she did at least recall where the dining hall was, and that the kitchen was adjacent. Hopefully Thace didn't realize their path was perhaps a bit roundabout due to her inexperience. It also helped that Keith—along with Hunk and Lance—met them halfway.

"How hungry did you say he was?" Allura asked Thace, startled. Keith's tray would've been plenty for a full-grown man, and the next two were piled equally high.

"Naw, princess, the rest is for us," Lance said, taking the lead. "This way, I know a shortcut."

 

 

 

Shiro sat cross-legged on the massive bed with his back to the wall, unwilling to leave the softest surface he'd sat on in years. The rest of the alcove bed had been turned into a makeshift dining table, with the platters spread out before him.

"I thought they'd never leave," Pidge finally said, once the door closed behind the princess and her silent attendant.

Keith sat at the head of the bed, within arm's reach. Hunk had handed out cloth napkins as plates, and Keith had appointed himself the one who kept Shiro's napkin full. Shiro waved his hand—currently occupied with a slice of unidentified but juicy roast beast, shoved between bread—but Keith's glare didn't waver. Shiro sighed and let Keith pile more on the napkin across Shiro's lap. 

"Do have to say, these are the freshest I've had since I left home." Lance slouched in a chair, bare feet propped on the bed. The napkin across his chest was full of something Hunk called vresta. It looked like small green squares to Shiro.

"What are they going to do to us?" Pidge had cleared off the small table beside the bed to use as her seat. She pulled apart a pastry, eating a bite at a time. "Does anyone know?"

Shiro set down the half-eaten meal. "Oriande's fallen, but that doesn't mean Altea has. Right now it's probably a matter of getting word to the various armies and calling them home."

"Sure, but where do we come into it?" Hunk sat sideways on the loveseat facing the bed, legs stretched out. "I mean, we're not even in Altea, anymore. How do we defend it from a distance?"

"Defend it? Blue couldn't get away from it fast enough." Lance shoved another green square into his mouth.

Hunk laughed. "Yellow was the same until he got stuck in a box in the air. Well, can't say I disagree with him, really."

"Was no one gonna say anything?" Pidge stabbed a finger in Keith's direction. "You just took off without a word. Does that mean the rest of us can, too?"

Shiro hadn't expected that. Keith frowned at the nearest platter.

"Keith?" Shiro asked. "What happened?"

"I fetched Ulaz and Thace. No one on the ship has any real medical skills."

So that was how the two Marmora had arrived. Shiro hadn't thought to ask, too groggy when he woke, vaguely aware of Ulaz sternly ordering everyone from the room. Ulaz hadn't simply shut the door behind the departing soldiers. He'd locked it, too.

It wasn't the first time in Shiro's adult life he'd had to strip under someone else's watchful eye. It _was_ the first time he'd felt safe doing so. He'd left on his family's necklace, and the bond collar, relieved when Ulaz made no comment about either.

Ulaz's fingers were cool against Shiro's skin, prodding along the muscles with the firm assurance of one who could hear the damage in Shiro's body. Whatever Ulaz had done, Shiro's back no longer hurt, and he was almost positive there were fewer scars on his arms. That alone would've been enough, but then Ulaz covered Shiro with the blankets and left, returning a few moments later with an armful of dark cloth and a parade of airship staff carrying a tub and buckets of steaming water. When the bath was ready, the door was locked again, and Ulaz sat with his back turned while Shiro soaked, washed, and scrubbed. With Ulaz' strict instructions to take his time, Shiro reveled in the luxury of staying until the water cooled.

And then the final shock, as Ulaz dressed Shiro in clean, close-fitting dark leather breeches, lined with some grey material too soft to be believed. Shiro's protests went ignored. Ulaz's dropped the tunic over Shiro's head, never losing that mysterious smile. The clothes fit in all ways except length, and Shiro suspected he'd been given Thace's spare clothing. 

Shiro shook himself from his daydreams, bringing his attention back to the mild argument going on between the rest of the paladins.

"Hey, it's fine, Blue wasn't gonna let Red go alone." Lance gave Pidge a lazy grin, and shook a wrist.

The bracelet's stone flashed once. Shiro blinked, and the next instant Lance wore a burnished silver gauntlet and vambrace on his left arm. Keith nearly dropped his pastry. Pidge's mouth fell open and Hunk shouted in surprise. Lance laughed, bringing his feet down from the bed.

By the time Lance's feet hit the floor, there were greaves over his dull blue breeches. He leaned back, hands locked behind his head, as armor slid forth, retracted, and reappeared elsewhere on his body: his waist, his legs, arms, shoulders, chest.

"Okay, now you're just making me dizzy," Hunk said.

"More like showing off," Pidge grumbled. "How did you do that?" She pushed up her sleeves, studying her own bracelets.

"I knocked the two stones together, and the armor sort of...took over. Then it was just a matter of getting used to it." Lance leaned his head back, watching Hunk knock his bracelets together with an intense look. "You're overthinking it. It's more like… wiggling your ears."

"You can wiggle your ears, too?" Keith asked, suspicious.

"Sure." Lance grabbed one ear between two long fingers and tugged. "Easy." He exhaled, and the mismatched pieces folded up and away.

"It's like fold," Pidge said, arms wide, entranced at the armor covering her body. "But I've never seen fold do so much. Ugh. Now I can't move."

Shiro took another bite of the meat, chewing thoughtfully, and reached out for Black's presence. With a series of quick images, he explained. Black huffed, amused, and Shiro knew he wasn't the lion's first paladin to ask the question.

A moment later he wore a breastplate and layered pauldrons that reached to his elbows. At his hips were five-band tassets, one on each hip and one over his groin, attached to a loose fauld around his waist. Satisfied, Shiro dismissed them and finished off his meal, licking his fingers one at a time.

"How did you do that?" Keith asked, eyes wide.

He'd chosen gauntlets and a breastplate, while Pidge had halted her armor to be greaves rising into a knee-guard, a simple band in lieu of a full fauld around her waist, and a gorget. Hunk had narrowed his preferences down to a plackart around his waist, and vambraces on his upper arms, while Lance had retracted all but the breastplate and rounded spaulders at his shoulders.

"You didn't knock your bracelets together," Lance challenged. "Did you know that all along?"

"No." Shiro smiled, unsurprised when Keith leaned forward and set a pastry in his lap. "I'm full, really. And I asked Black how to do it."

"Oh," Pidge said, closing her eyes. The gorget around her neck expanded, down to a kind of truncated breastplate, in the Vakarian style. "Much better." She clapped her hands on her thighs. "I'm ready."

Shiro nodded, the clues falling into place. Her glances at the door, the pack at her feet. "I'd rather you not go alone, though."

"What?" Lance sat up straight. "Again? Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously," Pidge replied, an edge in her voice. "The farther we get from Greizian Sur, the longer it'll take me."

"To do what?" Hunk asked. "Were you going to mention it to the rest of us, or just take off…" He gave Keith a look, but Keith was focused on getting Shiro's attention.

Shiro relented, accepting the item, delighted to find it was a ginger-sweet. He would always have room in his stomach for those. He popped it into his mouth with a smile, intrigued when the tips of Keith's ears darkened.

More puzzling were the odd tensions between the four. Keith clearly didn't trust Lance, who in turn seemed uneasy about Pidge, though Lance was doing a better job of hiding it. For her part, Pidge seemed uncertain about Keith and Hunk. Shiro had a feeling Pidge's apparent caution towards Lance had less to do Lance, and more to do with a young woman normally too serious to be fully at ease around anyone who smiled as freely as Lance.

Hunk was doing his best, but Shiro sensed the fear when Hunk looked Pidge's way, a fear echoed in Keith's wary glances. Vakarian battle-magic was far too effective, and the Marmora had learned to avoid that land. For Hunk, it was probably a simpler issue that Vakarians worshipped a trio of gods who played the role of enemy in Hunk's faith.

"It's my family." Pidge edged closer to the table's edge, as if preparing to run. "They're not traitors. Someone echoed us."

"They did what?" Hunk asked. "They repeated what you said?"

"I thought it meant mimicked your magic," Lance said.

"Yeah, that," Pidge agreed. "Whoever did it used that stolen power to assassinate two of the High Council. Not that we mourned, much. Assassinations are pretty common. But my family's signature was all over the scenes. We would never be that sloppy!"

Hunk grunted. "I can't tell whether you're more annoyed over being framed, or having people think your family isn't smart enough to cover their tracks."

"Well… fine, both. Still, my family had no reason. And there was no trial, nothing. Just summary orders for our execution as traitors. I was on retreat at the time, so they missed me. But my family—I can't wait any longer." Pidge hopped down from the table.

"You're just gonna let her go?" Lance asked Shiro.

"You know where they are?" Shiro asked.

"Yeah. There's only one place they'd be. Thanks for the midnight meal. I should be back by dawn."

"What will do you with them?" Keith asked. "Do you have a place to take them?"

Pidge shrugged. "Every family has retreats. We keep 'em secret for exactly this reason."

"But won't they just be hunted down again?" Hunk asked.

"No. Being echoed means your skill's been temporary commanded by someone else. No way to track what you don't have."

"Be as quick as you can," Shiro told her. "But until we've learned our lions better, I'd rather you have backup."

"That leaves three of us to put up with Hira," Hunk muttered.

"I'll come back," Pidge promised. "It shouldn't take more than a few hours."

Lance heaved a sigh and stood. "Come on, then. Let's get this over with."

"You?" Pidge cast a look around the room, her gaze resting on Shiro a little longer than the rest. She frowned at Lance. "Why you?"

"Not me. Blue. She's gonna come with Green with or without me, and I'd rather with me."

"Fine." Pidge picked up her bag.

"Wait. Shiro, I need to borrow this." Hunk pulled one of the pillows off the bed, shucked it free of its case, and collected the napkins, bundling up the leftover food. He tucked everything into the pack, and handed it to Pidge. "No one gets fed well in prison. That'll be something for them to eat on the way."

"Oh." Pidge accepted it with both hands, her smile shy. "Thanks."

Shiro swung his feet over the edge of the bed, and heaved himself to his feet as Hunk stacked the empty platters. Shiro pulled the blanket from the bed, rolling it up in his arms.

"Shiro?" Keith asked, also standing.

"I'll walk you down. It's a nice room, but for now, I'd rather be near Black."

Keith and Hunk exchanged looks, and both bolted from the room. Apparently Shiro's decision had inspired them to do the same.

By the time Shiro had reached the hangar with Lance and Pidge, Keith and Hunk had caught up with them, also carrying blankets. Black sat up at Shiro's entrance, looking around with eyes that gleamed enough to light the entire hangar.

Pidge hopped up into Green, and Hunk opened the doors. Green was out in an instant, Blue forced to back up to get around Black's bulk. Shiro smothered his grin at Black's disinclination to move, and Blue's annoyed chuffing.

Once Hunk had closed the hangar doors, Black raised its head to consider the ceiling, then swung its massive head to stare down at them. Or more precisely, at Keith, who backed up a few steps.

"Black isn't sure how you managed it." Shiro laughed, clapping Keith on the shoulder.

From the platform above Yellow, Red chirruped sleepily.

"It was a tight space," Keith admitted. "I think…" He glanced upwards.

"See you in a few hours," Hunk said. Yellow raised his head, yawning widely. Hunk climbed into the space at Yellow's neck, waving once before settling down.

Shiro waved in return, and watched Keith scale the narrow ladder up to Red's platform. Something solid banged into Shiro, shoving him forward a step. Black nudged Shiro again, and kneaded its claws on the wooden floor.

Apparently Shiro was meant to get more sleep, not be distracted by the impossible. Shiro wrapped the blanket around him and settled down between Black's claws, delighted and touched when Black lowered its head to create a protected nook for Shiro.

So many questions simmering in Shiro's head, but for the moment, his only choice was to take each new thing as it came. And to enjoy the sensation of a body that didn't hurt too badly, the softness of a fine quilt, and the subtle vibration of Black's rumbling purr.

For the first time in far too long, his dreams did not twist into nightmares. Instead, Black's form shifted, or perhaps it was the quilt. Shiro dreamt himself curled within the protective embrace of lush velvet, as black as a moonless night. He twisted in place to lay his head against the warmth, fingers buried in the thick fur.

Black's hiss snapped Shiro from his doze. He was on his feet, armor forming across his body, one hand on Black's muzzle. He wasn't sure whether to reassure himself or restrain Black—as if he even could, or would want to, depending on the threat—but he refused to be caught off-guard.

The hangar was brighter, faint light streaming through the jalousie vents along the hangar's exterior walls. Lanterns had been lit at some point, and footsteps approached. Shiro waited, readying himself.

Martan came around Black's forward paw, the slight hitch in his step the only indication he found Black unnerving. He halted, gaze looking over Shiro's armor, and then up to meet Shiro's eyes.

"What do you want, Martan," Shiro said, flatly. Black growled, low in its throat, and Shiro petted Black's jaw, sending silent reassurance.

"I never disrespected you," Martan said. "You were a good dekan, despite your status. But this is the second time two of the guardians have run off. How can you call yourself their leader when you can't even control them?"

"I don't call myself their leader," Shiro replied.

"You fly the Black Lion."

"I do. I'm not their leader, though."

"You were given—"

This was an old argument, from Shiro's earliest days at the castle. "Yet another empty title. What really matters, I will _earn_."

Martan's hands were fists at his side. "General Hira is on her way down. Her reputation isn't just words, Shiro. She never repeats a threat."

Shiro softened, knowing Martan's frustration. "They promised to return."

"And _you_ trust them?"

"I don't know." Shiro smiled, knowing his expression was more wry than amused. "Black does. I'm willing to say that's enough."

"Shiro, by the five, you are—" Martan waved a hand, walking away. He made it a few steps, stopped, exhaled, turned around and came back. "Now that you're awake, she's got the perfect excuse to get rid of you."

Black made no sound, but its claws extended, digging into the wood.

Something in Martan's desperate gaze brought Shiro up short. An icy knot formed in his stomach. Only Alfor had known, and he'd sworn his silence. Not for the first time, Shiro marveled at his younger self, so quick to trust the oath of a man who proved himself unable to keep a single promise. If Hira knew...

"The princess is the last of her family line," Martan said. "There's too many with her right now with their own goals. If anything happens to you, who else will—"

"Who else? You," Shiro reminded him. "I wasn't the only one down on one knee, that day."

Martan looked away.

For a moment, Shiro felt the airship tilt on its axis. He could barely breathe. "You broke your oath."

"No!" Martan's face was creased with pain. "Allura's the closest thing I've ever had to a little sister. I don't want her hurt. You're the only one who'll never betray her."

No, but not because Shiro wouldn't. He _couldn't_ , and Martan knew it. Orphans set on different paths, but their shared origin had stayed with them: an oath to protect Alfor, his wife, his child, his descendents. And now Martan had a look much like Alfor: a man who knew he'd broken the spirit of his promise, even as he'd talked himself into believing he'd upheld the letter.

"Get away from me," Shiro growled, disgusted. Black rumbled, deep in its chest.

Martan paled, ears flat against his head. "For Allura's sake, don't make it worse. You piss the general off, I can't protect you—"

"I wouldn't expect you to. You never have before."

"Now you're just being an asshole. I've never raised a hand against you!"

"No, you just ordered someone else to do it."

Black growled, the deep vibration in its chest enough to rattle the hangar's timbers. Martan stumbled backwards, hands up. Black's fury suffused Shiro, wrapping around his chest until he could barely breathe. Black's growl became a tremendous roar, deafening in the enclosed space. Shiro bent over, hands over his ears. From above, Red woke, roaring. Yellow joined the furor.

Black lowered its head to nudge Shiro back into the shelter of its forelegs. Shiro argued, but Black was implacable, though Shiro did enjoy seeing Black turn its attention to Martan, lunging forward to snap its jaws at the man. Martan yelled and backed up so fast he slammed into the wall. Black huffed, quietly amused. 

"That is entirely unnecessary," Hira's voice rang out. "If you cannot control the beast, you will be removed from your position."

Black looked up, ignoring Hira to focus on something else. It was like overhearing a conversation through thin walls: too muffled to make out the meaning, left with only the faint tones. Shiro nudged Black mentally, and was given a displeased mental shove in return, leaving Shiro with the sense he'd just been told to be quiet and stay put.

Red leaned over the edge of the platform, eyes gleaming. A moment later, Keith scrambled down from Red. He didn't come down the ladder, instead running off towards some exit on the upper level.

Hira raised her left hand, and removed her gloves, a finger at a time. "This is twice, now." She took hold of the ring around her thumb, a thick silver band with a single black stone.

Shiro put a hand on Black's chest, begging the lion to hold. It could be no worse than anything else he'd been through. As much as he detested Hira, it was better than the alternative.

Black growled.

Hira didn't flinch, turning the ring slowly.

Shiro's jaw locked down on the shout, as his muscles tensed. Gradual at first, the intensity grew. With the last shreds of his awareness, Shiro pushed back at Black's fury. Hira was the commander-general of Altea's armies, undoubtedly far more loyal to Altea than Shiro. She'd chosen her place, rather than submitted to it. More to the point, her death would give room for the army's under-leaders to break apart in favor of backing their own families' distant claims to the throne. Their last unified act would be to execute Allura.

Black coiled to pounce.

Shiro's back arched, every muscle taut. He gritted his teeth, continuing to beg, command, cajole Black to stay. As long as Hira remained Allura's military mainstay, Shiro couldn't sanction her death. Unlike Martan, Shiro's oath wouldn't let him stand by. The pain spiked again. Shiro couldn't tell if his hoarse scream was only in his head. His lungs fluttered in his rib cage, trapped in frozen muscles. He'd lived this long. He'd survive this, too.

But if Black forced Shiro's oath to break… that, Shiro would not survive.

 

 

 

Hunk had climbed out onto Yellow's back when the lion roared. At Hira's words, Hunk shrank back, as though a man his size could ever be unnoticeable. The heartbeats ticked by as he argued with himself.

Every childhood lesson told Hunk to defend the one who could not—or would not—defend himself. He cursed himself for a coward, because childhood lessons weren't much against the knowledge that protesting would make him next. Watching Lance go through it had been horrific, and that'd been for a count of ten. For Shiro, it'd already been a count of twenty.

"What is Black doing?" Hunk whispered, his voice sounding tinny and lost in the blood pounding in his ears.

The huge lion had coiled to spring, but now it threw its head back and forth, mouth open, as if trapped like its paladin. Yellow growled. Somewhere above, Red whined, a breathy, mournful sound.

One image, then another, and then more. A lot for the reticent lion, but none made sense to Hunk. He turned them around and sent them back at Yellow, confused.

Yellow rumbled, and with an effort that felt almost as herculean as Black's thrashing, replied with words.

 _Paladin holds_. Yellow sent the same images, this time with a sense of being restricted. Forced back in some way.

"Shiro's refusing to let Black defend him?" Hunk scooted to the edge of Yellow's back, climbing down cautiously. Neither Hira nor the three soldiers around her seemed to be looking his way. He landed on the hangar floor, and knocked his knuckles against Yellow's exoskeleton. "What happens when—"

Yellow slammed a single memory at Hunk. Blurred at the edges, distorted by age, jumpy like candle flame, but distinct enough to make Hunk's knees buckle. Shiro was on the verge of losing consciousness, and Black would be unleashed.

And then the Black Lion would kill every living being on the airship, destroy the ship itself, and—Hunk stopped, startled. What would come after that?

 _Nothing_ , Yellow sighed. _Absence._

Hunk launched himself forward, yelling, arms spread. So what if Hira turned on him. It'd still take a heartbeat for her to shift her focus. He needed to talk fast. He wished for Lance's way with words, but all he had was himself.

"Stop!" Hunk yelled, blocking Hira's view of Shiro, arms spread. Black keened, claws slowly ripping the hangar floor apart. "You're killing him—"

"He's a slave," Hira snapped. "His life is of no consequence."

"Can you say the same about your own? You kill him, Black will take revenge and it won't be pretty. _None_ of us will survive!"

Hira jerked back, and twisted the ring on her finger. A thump sounded behind Hunk, and he dared taking his eyes off Hira long enough to check. Shiro sat on his heels, panting hard, pushing himself upright with his hands on his knees.

"Shiro?" Hunk asked, arms still spread. Black snorted, rising up on its forelegs, pulling back. "Come on, Shiro, if you're alright, I need you to tell Black to stand down."

"I am," Shiro gasped.

"These are Altea's guardians," Hira answered. "As the protector of the rightful queen, they're forbidden from such treachery."

"I don't think Black cares all that much." Hunk tensed at Yellow's rising anger. Slower than Black's, but it felt even more dangerous as a result, and Yellow was losing patience with Hira's tone. "Actually, Yellow's giving serious thought to not caring, either."

Beyond Hira, something moved from the shadows, too fast to track. A blade flashed and came to stop at Hira's neck. Thace stood behind Hira, looming over her by a head, one hand on her wrist. His other hand held a blade to her neck.

Hira's eyes were wide in astonishment. "You dare—"

"You bear tools that are the Queen's alone," Thace said. "Those will be returned, now. Hunk, if you would."

"Me?" Hunk nodded. "Oh, gotcha. Okay, sure." He somehow got his feet working. His heart hammered twice as loud, now that the danger was passing. Hunk took Hira's hand, working a ring free of each finger.

Hira snarled something, and Hunk faltered. Thace murmured Hunk's name and Hunk nodded, steeling himself to finish the task.

"You will pay for this," Hira promised Thace.

"Not as much as you would have," Thace replied. "Eventually you would have turned on my student as well, and I will not allow that. Besides, I don't believe Altea can afford another enemy right now."

Hunk removed the last ring and stepped away.

Thace released Hira, blade flashing once as he tucked it away. Hira rubbed her neck, grimacing. A second, smaller shadow darted out, around Hunk, rushing towards Shiro. Keith skidded to a halt, dropping before Shiro, hands out.

"I'm fine," Shiro rasped.

Not even close, but Hunk figured it wasn't the time to say that. Black chuffed at Keith, an approving sound. Another good sign. Hunk curled his fist around the rings, considering.

"I'll take those," Allura said, walking the length of the hangar along Black's flank. She put out her hand, expectant.

Hunk looked back at Yellow, then up at Black. There was only one choice, really. "I'm sorry, princess." The metal whispered faint against his soul, mingling with the small voices of the five cut stones. "I don't know who made these, but they were wrong. I can't let anyone have these."

"You can't keep them," Allura said, shocked. "Those are mine by right."

"Cruelty is no one's right." Hunk tightened his grip.

Agony stabbed Hunk's chest. Shiro choked, and Keith cried out in hurt and surprise. The sharp pain passed, leaving him shaking. Shiro's coughing was labored, but when Keith said something, Shiro managed to answer.

Hunk raised his fist to his mouth, calling upon every last shard of silver and stone to break apart, crushed into oblivion. He opened his hand. Dust fell, motes both glittering and dull.

Red sat up, chirruping. Black's head swiveled towards the hangar doors. Yellow rumbled, calling Hunk back. Pidge's scream, as if carried on the wind, following by Lance, calling their names. Time to go.

Shiro climbed Black's exoskeleton, as Keith ran for the hangar doors, releasing them. Black turned in the tight space, wings knocking against the support beams. Hunk ran for Yellow, ducking down under Black's tail as the lion rose up, turning in the small space.

"Where are you going?" Allura yelled. "Shiro!"

"Pidge and Lance are outside the pillars," Shiro shouted down to her. "Two Daibazaal airships have them cornered."

Black roared and leapt free of the airship, leaving behind Allura's baffled shout. Yellow and Red followed. Yellow roared back, annoyed at the thought of being left behind.

Hunk planted his feet, looking for the right spot, relieved when he slipped into Yellow's chest. The lion's internal mechanisms caught hold of the armor and locked into place around him.

"Keith," Shiro called. "You can get there faster than we can. Go, we'll be right behind you."

"Got it!" Red's tail whipped once, and the lion took off.

Hunk twisted his hands, urging Yellow to hurry up, but the going was tough with the pillars so narrow. Over their connection, Shiro yelped in surprise.

Hunk couldn't help laughing. "Sorry! Guess we should've warned you about that." He walked Shiro through the basics he'd figured out, glad when Keith pitched in with a few pointers of his own.

The end of Vakar's pillars lay directly ahead. Black's tail whipped and the lion lunged forward. Hunk took a deep breath, bracing himself as Yellow followed their leader into battle.


	12. Chapter 12

Green hit the ground, sliding until she slammed into the base of a pillar. Pidge squinted at the view obscured by bushes and broken branches, and shook herself.

"Come on, girl, gotta move!" Pidge tensed, pushing mentally and physically.

Green climbed to her feet. The view shifted right-side-up, just in time to see the lizard-tanka collapse down onto all fours. Its exoskeleton shifted, and it raised its head.

"Oh, not again," Pidge moaned.

Overhead, the forefront airship opened fire, poison-quintessence cannon fire. The ground exploded. Pidge braced herself as the lion lurched skywards. Green growled in frustration.

"Sorry, sorry, reflex." Pidge forced herself to unclench her fingers, and Green spun, twisting away from another shot. "Lance! Where are you!"

"Little busy," Lance shouted. Blue had risen up on her hind legs into a tailed humanoid shape. She grappled with another lizard tanka, neither managing to push the other forward. Stalemated.

The first lizard-tanka screeched in fury from the ground, and Green roared back, tail lashing. The moment's distraction was all it took. The airship fired again, hitting Blue with a direct shot. Lance screamed as Blue fell, thrashing. Energy crackled along Blue's limbs.

"Hold on!" Keith's voice. "We're coming!"

"Airship." Lance coughed. "Watch the cannon. Nasty stuff."

"Got it." Red darted past Blue, raising its head. A long streak of flame shot from Red's mouth and engulfed the airship.

"Hey!" Lance complained, and Pidge knew he'd bounced back. "How'd you get firepower?"

Keith laughed, then whispered something that sounded an awful lot like _good kitty_.

"Alright, girl," Pidge told Green. "Let's deal with that lizard."

Green landed, rising up to strike at the lizard. Off to their left, Yellow slammed head-first into the upright lizard grappling with Blue. Shiro's voice called for Keith. Black came from above, landing hard on the fourth airship.

Pidge focused on the lizard before her, swiping Green's claws across the lizard's face-plate. The lizard transformed upright again. This time, Pidge kept Green low. The lion twisted in place, using their tail to knock the lizard down.

The airship sent another blast. Lance yelled a warning, and Green leapt out of the way. Hunk shouted in surprise. Across the crushed landscape, Yellow stumbled, falling to its knees. Red landed in front of Yellow, sending another stream of fire at the airship.

Stuck on its back, the lizard-tanka flailed for a moment, then used its thick tail to lever itself over. Green brought a claw down in the center of the lizard-tanka's back, shoving it to the dirt. Pidge saw her chance. She shaped her fingers to release the casts she'd crafted for Green, pleased when Green's claws maneuvered through the shapes in tandem.

"Now!" Pidge released the cast.

The lizard-tanka exploded. The force sent Green flying backwards, knocked senseless. The backlash crushed Pidge's hands, fingers breaking. She screamed, agonized, and continued screaming as Green hit the ground, claws digging in. The movement translated backwards into Pidge's control, forcing her broken fingers to move.

"Pidge! _Pidge!_ " Shiro's voice.

She couldn't answer, her scream becoming a long cry. Something wet covered her hands, dripping into the depths of Green's chest. The lion roared and leapt of its own accord, shaking Pidge helplessly. She screamed again, desperate, eyes closed. Green ripped and tore, metal crunching, the lion's growls mixing with Pidge's agonized sobbing.

Another high-pitched whine of the airship cannons. Somewhere far off, Hunk yelled, Keith replied. Shiro's voice, issuing quick orders. Something about the lizards, an airship landing, covering fire. Green kept attacking.

"Pidge," Keith yelled. "You need to call Green off! They're retreating—"

"I can't," Pidge moaned. "I can't get her to do anything—"

"Stop!" Shiro's voice deepened, as though a multitude of voices spoke with him.

Green paused. For a single heartbeat, Pidge caught her breath, then Green shuddered. The vibration sent shooting pains up Pidge's arms. Green roared in frustration, coiling its muscles, claws scraping at the dirt.

Something massive and powerful slammed into Green from the side, throwing the lion down. Pidge swung with the movement, instinctively holding on. Her fingers curled around the grip. She screamed again, a sharp high sound.

 

 

 

Lotor stood by the open window, formal over-tunic closed tight against the chilly breeze. They'd skirted Vakar, heading east over the inland sea, then turning north at the great Daibazaal river. Below, the land blurred, indistinct rolling plains of grass beyond the river's headwaters gleaming in the sunrise.

Axca paced the small room. Narti leaned against the wall, facing the door. Zethrid waited by the door, hands out and ready despite her relaxed posture. Through the twelve hours in the air so far, they'd taken turns napping on the two couches along the walls while the other three kept guard. Standing guard for his own adjutants was anathema to Galran ways, but these four women were his closest friends, even more than Allura. He respected rank in public, but behind closed doors, the five were equals.

Prorok's fleet was substantial, but like all military vessels, the airships were equipped with the minimum in passenger comfort. The airship's quarters were tight, most of the airship's free space set aside for fuel storage to power its full belly of tanka and army kites. Fortunately, the airship was also equipped with communications, unlike Lotor's own.

Lotor shut the jalousie vents, blocking the wind's whistling enough to hear the tiny stattaco tapping from the door. Zethrid grinned and opened the door to empty air. She looked into the hall with an exaggerated bit of confusion, waved at the guards outside, and shut the door.

"What did you find, Ezor?" Lotor asked.

"Prorok's facing a more organized resistance in Teidal." Ezor spoke before she'd finished coalescing from the empty air. Her normally cheerful expression was grim, lines of exhaustion around her mouth. "Fighting was fierce, until Prorok ordered his forces back."

"Someone must've gotten word out," Zethrid said.

"Settling into a siege?" Axca asked.

Ezor nodded. "Those four ships that lost the princess in Vakar's pillars—they just reported in. Three of them engaged the lions at the southern exit."

Axca frowned. "Did you hear who had command?"

"Throk," Ezor said. "He called for reinforcements, and Prorok ordered him back." A sardonic grin, more like her usual, flashed across her narrow features. "Seems like he thought he was winning, until one of the lions went crazy."

"Which one?" Zethrid asked, ear-feathers perking. "Bet that big black one could've taken an airship out by itself."

"Didn't say." Ezor shrugged. "Throk's to back up Trugg, who's attacking Olkari."

More stupid deaths. Lotor set aside the irritation, and turned the map around in his head. Prorok's plan was obvious; destroying Altea's potential allies would not only weaken Altea's attempt to rally, but also warn other allies.

"Pointless." Lotor wanted to punch something. "It could've been a bloodless transfer, if we'd had more time." Or not even a transfer so much as a merger, had his parents granted permission when he'd wanted to accept Allura's offer, five years before.

"I think that'd be beside the point," Ezor said. "None of it sounds like what you'd do if you wanted to rule Altea."

"Not unless you plan to rule over a pile of ashes." Zethrid snorted. "So much for a two-pronged attack on Thaldycon."

"Or Vakar, or Chandria," Axca said. "I don't think the goal is Altea's capture."

"It's destruction," Lotor muttered.

His mother's words in Chandria had given him the hope that her goal was to right the old wrong. Once again, his own assumptions had led right into another failure. If he'd accepted the rest of the forces Mother had offered—

Narti raised a hand, catching his attention. _There was nothing you could've done differently,_ she signed. The sharp edges to her gestures underlined her certainty.

"Yes, there was." Lotor crossed his arms, pondering. "I could've taken advantage of Allura's friendship, held her hostage, and led the troops—"

"No, you couldn't." Zethrid sighed. "No more than you could chop off your own ears, and you know it."

_Exactly what I was going to say_. Narti's smooth face—inherited from her non-Galran father—may've meant she was blind, without the vocal cords to form words, but she wasn't silent. She clicked her double-rows of teeth several times, a sign of her amusement.

"Perhaps the casualties will be less," Axca offered. "Daibazaal has an advantage here that it didn't over Folata or Balmera." Her lip curled with disgust.

Zethrid nodded. "Once the word spreads that Daibazaal will support the slaves in fighting back, I'm sure Altea will have a full-scale revolt on its hands."

"Then they renounce the five gods, become citizens, and Altea will be a free country," Ezor said, pleased.

"I doubt it'll be that easy," Lotor said. "Even the Altean slaves are devotees of their gods. It's not like Folata, where the slaves were foreigners. Altean chattel are multi-generational debtors, but they're still Altean."

_Like permanent indenture_ , Narti signed, followed by a flick of her fingers. A question.

"Exactly. That slave revolt is going to be followed by a second slaughter, if the former slaves won't convert," Lotor said.

_Is that really the goal?_ Narti asked.

"Oh," Ezor said, eyes widening. She was always the quickest to get Narti's meanings. "You're right. They've run off what's left of the royal family. The ministers are either fled or executed, and the capital city's fallen. By the time the Alteans get it together to fight back, Daibazaal will hold the high ground—"

"Which Altea could've held easily." Axca hadn't lost her disapproving glare. "If it hadn't taken for granted that no one would try."

Narti pointed a clawed finger at Lotor. _So why bother chasing the princess?_

"Why even attack Olkari?" Ezor added. "It seems like a lot of effort for one person, really."

"I don't think it's one person." Lotor pulled the jalousie vent open enough to check the land below. They'd left the Daibazaal river behind, and flew across the open rolling steppe. "Mother said something when we met… She said events would prove her the legitimate queen."

"Sure, if crushing the country under your foot makes you a true ruler." Zethrid rolled her eyes. "That's how it always is."

"Not always, and not for Altea." Lotor frowned. "In Altea, only one person can call up the land's guardians."

"Is that what your parents want?" Ezor asked. "The lions?"

"Why even bother?" Zethrid studied her claws. "They're ancient. They have half the firepower of our modern tanka, and twice the unpredictability. Who wants to fly something that might fight you while you're trying to fight something else?"

Lotor mulled it over. He'd told Allura that if he held Altea, it would satisfy his mother's vengeance. If he'd truly managed to do so, he could've called the guardians back to him, as a legitimate ruler in his own right. He hadn't had the first idea how to do so; he'd studied countless texts, and never found any clues. It was knowledge passed down from parent to child. If it were written anywhere, those texts were secret to all but the monarchs. 

"But if Altea were part of Daibazaal..." Axca kept her voice low. "The guardians would be obligated to defend all of the empire. They might be ancient, but there's a reason they're undefeated."

"With those five at the forefront of the imperial forces, Daibazaal would be unstoppable," Ezor said.

Narti clicked her teeth, getting Lotor's attention. _That means Altea is safe, for now._

"Safe?" Zethrid laughed, bitter. "They're being razed to the ground—"

Narti waved a hand, forestalling Zethrid. _Not razed. Prorok chose a siege because he wants Altea intact. The cities are hostage to make the princess return._

"Unless the revolts bring the cities down," Axca asked. "If Altea falls, what will those guardians protect?"

"As much as I've ever been able to determine," Lotor said, "the guardians exist via contract, like any other soul-oath."

Ezor pursed her lips, uncertain. "But if an oath's beneficiary dies, the one sworn is freed."

"Or dies, too," Axca said.

_It depends on the terms_ , Narti agreed.

"Doesn't seem like either applies," Zethrid said. "Whoever made the original contract is long dead by now."

"Unless the oath were to the bloodline, rather than a single person," Lotor said. "Or the land itself." The nuance was subtle, but crucial. Frustrating to have his texts out of reach, locked in the library in his own airship.

Axca pried the jalousie vent open, studying the horizon ahead. Below, a herd of rattya streaked across the steppes, frightened into a jumbled stampede by the airship's shadow.

"We should get ready," Axca said. "We'll be landing in Zutan in another half-hour."

 

 

 

Lance urged Blue into the airship, behind Green. If he concentrated, he could hear Pidge sobbing, quietly, but at least Black had brought Green out of that rampage. Blue lay down in her spot, and Lance breathed, releasing the bindings.

The forest had been trampled, trees downed, boulders crushed. Black and Yellow were at attention, watching for Daibazaal to return. Every muscle in Lance's body hurt, as though he'd been crushed, too. Whatever the airship had added to the quintessence cannon-fire was potently nasty stuff.

Lance was about to scramble upwards, except for not being sure about his passenger. He sent images at Blue, convinced there had to be another way out. Blue rumbled, making Lance grin. He was right. A thin crack appeared directly before him, widening into a split-hatch.

Just a short drop to the hangar floor, but the impact had Lance listing to the side, a hand on Blue for support. She rumbled, feeling the same. Lance shook it off and forced his body to move, scaling the ladder up to Green. The lion lay on its belly, head to the side. Lance skidded to a halt before Green's nose. He punched it, once.

"Green! Wake up!" Lance did it again, satisfied when the lion growled, faintly. "You need to let Pidge out of there—come on! Open _up!_ "

Hunk was right behind him, but Hunk chose instead to climb up Green's exoskeleton, followed by Pidge's elder brother. Matt—a few years older than Lance, hair a duller copper than Pidge's—had insisted on coming with them. His shouts joined Hunk's, yelling from the pocket.

"Just a crack," Lance pleaded, banging his fist on Green's muzzle again. "Come on!"

Green yawned, and something clicked. Lance bolted from her head, around her front paws, and up to her chest. The vertical crack had opened. He got his fingers in and pulled. Nothing happened.

"Lance," Shiro said, joining him. "What are you doing?"

"It's a hatch, but it's stuck. Green! A little more help than that!"

"Let me." Shiro shook out his hands and set his fingers in the crack. He grunted with the effort, the sound lengthening into a groan. The hatch opened up with a scrape of bone. Pidge fell out, right into Shiro.

"Katie!" Matt leapt down from Green's back. "Katie!"

"Bring her over here," Ulaz said, coming through the doors from mid-decks. Shiro carried Pidge over, kneeling down to lay her out. She moaned at the movement.

Matt followed, anxious. Lance stayed back, sure he'd just get in the way. He wasn't feeling too good, either, but as long as Blue was alright, he could handle the rest. Hunk joined them, Keith coming last. He looked as gray as Pidge, and he put a hand to his head, swaying. Lance caught Keith by the elbow, tugging him away from the platform's edge.

"You okay?" Lance asked.

"Yeah, I guess." Keith straightened up, and Lance took the hint, letting go.

"Oh, hey. I owe you thanks."

"Me? For what?" 

"You blocked a shot on Blue," Lance said. "We owe you one."

"Okay." Keith looked like he either didn't know what Lance meant, or didn't believe him. "What happened, anyway? How'd they find you?"

"They didn't. We kinda came up on them from behind."

Shiro stood up from the group around Pidge. "How did it go? Did you get everyone out safely?"

"Yes and no. We got out the ones still alive." Lance sighed, then brightened. "The prison had prepped for a lion's attack, but they weren't expecting two of us. Blue does a great job tearing open buildings."

"How many in her family?" Hunk asked. "The pockets would be a tight squeeze for more than two people."

"Uh, brother, mother, uncle, and a cousin. We dropped them off in the middle of the woods, somewhere near their hidey-hole, I guess. Pidge asked her brother to come with us, though."

"Why?" Hunk eyed Pidge's brother. Behind Hunk, Allura entered with her two attendants, the red-headed man named Coran and the dark-haired woman named Radala.

"I didn't get a chance to ask." Lance shrugged. "Though I have to hand it to him, if he hadn't come with us, you wouldn't have heard—"

Pidge's shriek cut through the hangar's silence. Ulaz held one of her hands. She'd come upright, trying to tear her hand from his grasp. Ulaz reached out, two fingers pressed to her forehead. Pidge's eyes rolled back in her head, and she went boneless.

"What—" Matt gave Ulaz a dirty look. "What did you do to my sister?"

"I'm of the Marmora," Ulaz said, patiently. "You may have battlefield magic, but we have battlefield medicine. Now, hold her still while I check the damage." He felt along her fingers, then her palm. "Nothing's broken."

"That wasn't faked pain," Matt snapped.

"Pain is pain, no matter the cause," Ulaz said, unperturbed. "I doubt she's the source, though."

"If it's not her," Allura said, "It must be Green."

Lance reached out to Blue, certain she talked to Green, like sisters would. Blue's reply was an unhappy rumble, and he recalled an odd detail from when he'd met the Green Paladin for the first time. "Hey, Pidge was working on something with Green."

"Working on something? Like what?" Shiro asked.

"Not sure. She was talking to Green about something she wanted to try."

Blue sent more images, and the pieces clicked into place.

"Fingers on a person are paws on a lion," Lance said. "If Green's the source, her paws must be what's hurting." 

Hunk rubbed his chin, thinking it over, and headed to the lion, waving for Matt to come with him. Lance followed, curious. The lion lay with her head to the side, chin on a paw. Green's claws came to a little above Lance's waist, the razor-sharp metal needle-like, compared to Blue's thick talons. The edges glittered strangely.

"It's casts," Matt said, going down on one knee to look. "She covered the... oh, that's ingenious." He frowned. "And cracked. See, there?" A hairline fracture ran down two of the claws.

"That's not good," Hulk said. "The metal's too brittle for that kind of stress." He put out a hand and froze. "What exactly did she do? I don't know if I want to be touching Vakarian stuff."

"It shouldn't trigger without a command." Matt grinned. "But seeing how it's Katie who put this together, how about you give me a little room and I'll dismantle it."

Lance stood back, amused at how Matt looked mostly like he was pulling cobwebs off the claws, though he never touched the surface. Matt swiped again, gesturing like he was balling something up, and then rubbed his fingers against the hem of his short cloak. From what Lance had heard, that was how a lot of Vakarians stored their casts. 

Matt started on Green's third claw when the metal flared sharp and bright. Pidge screamed as Matt fell back, hands raised against the small explosion. Green raised her head, growling low. Black rose up, looking over the edge of the platform. Matt yelled in surprise, scooting away on his ass. Green whined in her throat. Black rumbled, and Shiro clapped a hand over his mouth, muffling his laughter.

"What?" Lance asked Shiro. "What did Black say?"

Shiro grinned, and the delight transformed his face. "Roughly, you killed the day-lizard, you gotta eat it."

From across the hangar, Red huffed, tail lashing. Keith choked, like he'd tried to swallow a laugh. When Shiro's brows went up, Keith shrugged.

"I feel like I shouldn't be encouraging Red," he said, almost like an apology.

"Okay, let's try this again." Matt glanced over his shoulder at Pidge, out cold against Ulaz' chest. "For the record, it's not a good thing at she can feel this."

"This claw on the end is clear?" Hunk pointed. "I'm thinking maybe it's better not to wait until they're all done. Get it over with faster."

"Yeah, all clear." Matt finished the last claw on Green's left hand and stood, rolling his shoulders and stretching.

Hunk set a hand on the first claw. A soft blue glow spread from his hand, breaking apart into fissures. Most faded, but three fissures grew solid, tracing down the length of the claw. Shiro's brows went up in fascination. Lance tried to look interested, but he'd seen Hunk do it enough with rocks, already.

Behind them, Pidge gave a broken cry. Lance couldn't take it any longer. Ulaz' nifty Marmoran trick wasn't working anymore. Maybe Lance's own tricks wouldn't work on a Vakarian, but couldn't hurt to try. Lance headed over to Pidge, kneeling down beside her.

"Hey." Lance pushed at her legs. "Sit up." Once she'd made room, he sat cross-legged before her. "There's a trick my people have, that we do when…" He grinned, uncomfortable with saying too much. "When we feel hurt that isn't really ours. I can walk you through it."

Pidge nodded, and wiped her sleeve across her eyes, fingers stiff. She pressed her lips together, gamely stoic while Lance got Ulaz to sit behind her, his long Galran legs stretched out far enough that even Lance sat within their enclosure. Ulaz held out his hands, palms up.

"Alright, rest your hands on Ulaz'," Lance said, letting Pidge choose her own pace. When her hands lay on Ulaz', palm-up, he gently lowered his own over hers. "You feel our hands, right?"

Pidge nodded, face creasing momentarily as Hunk finished one claw and moved to the next.

"Okay, now we're all going to breathe in unison," Lance said. "Lean back a little, enough to feel when Ulaz breathes out, so you can do the same. Let's start with that, Ulaz, if you could say inhale, exhale?"

Ulaz' ears perked up. He seemed as fascinated as Shiro had been, watching Hunk. He recited the words, speeding up once he realized his lung capacity had Pidge nearly breathless. Lance was fine with that, since it meant no one would notice his own abilities. He closed his eyes, tracing the energy through his body. Not too much, just a trickle redirected towards his hands. A little at a time, until Pidge's eyes flew open, astonished.

"Your hands—" For a moment, she'd forgotten the signals of pain. "They're hot!"

"It's a thing," Lance said. "Keep breathing. Feel our hands against yours, outlining your skin. Feel the edges of your body."

It'd been a long time since his older siblings had walked him through the steps. He struggled to find the calming cadence, the repetition that would lull Pidge into the near-trance state. Reminding her of her fingers against his palm, Ulaz' fingers cradling hers, the warmth and the sensation of her chest rising and falling with every breath.

From the corner of his eye, it looked like Matt had finished with clearing out whatever Pidge had done to Green. Hunk had made quick work of the second claw and moved onto the third. The light flared brighter, and Pidge stiffened.

"Focus," Lance whispered. "Feel your hand, front and back, every finger, outlined by ours. Breathe…"

The third claw had particular damage, it seemed. Lance had lost track of the number of breaths, but the sun's glare through the window-vents was bright in his face. Mid-day, and then the beams of light shifted away. The airship had turned due west, and Lance tucked away the observation. Ulaz continued to intone reminders for their breaths.

Pidge's fingers fluttered against Lance's skin. "It doesn't hurt anymore," she said. "It does, but it's… distant, like—ow!"

Lance grinned. "Keep your focus." He sent a bit more energy into his hands. His toes and ears were going numb, chilled from the lack of energy. "Steady."

"Got it," Pidge whispered. "Wait, too hot… can you take it down a notch?" Her voice sounded innocent, but her eyes were calculating.

It set him on edge, enough that he didn't divert the energy immediately. He let it fade, pretending at the effort, as though it weren't entirely in his control. When Hunk had two more claws still to do, Lance lifted his hands away. He signaled to Ulaz to stay still, giving Pidge a chance to adjust.

"It still hurts, but it's a mental thing." Pidge took a deep breath, still in time with Ulaz, and raised her hands. She flexed her fingers, careful, her expression intent, bottom lip caught between her teeth. "It's still working."

"Good." Lance leaned back on his hands. His ass was completely asleep from sitting for so long on the platform's hard floor. "Hopefully Hunk should be done soon."

Ulaz withdrew from around Pidge, and Lance took that as a cue to slide back, giving Pidge room. Matt knelt down beside her, and she gave him a crooked smile.

"What the hell did you do to that thing," Matt asked. "Were those many layers really necessary?"

"Green wanted big explosions," Pidge said. "I've been weaving layers for a year now—"

"Three or four! Not _nine_. That's too much, Katie."

"It worked fine on Keith's little Marmora noise-marble. And besides, every cast went on fine. If they're going to break, that's when it'd happen."

"There's only one reason," Matt said, twisting around to give the somnolent lion a worried look. "Somehow, that machine already has an affinity, and it's not the same as yours."

"They're not only machines." Allura spoke up for the first time. "They have sentience."

Matt's frown deepened.

"Do all beings have this affinity?" Ulaz asked.

"Not that I've ever heard of," Matt said. "It's something we learn from before we can even talk, in Vakar. By the time a kid can walk, their affinity's known. Some people can learn a second or third—" Matt exchanged a smug grin with Pidge. "But mostly, you find yours, and you stay with it."

Lance was having second thoughts about the wisdom of letting Matt come along, but that was no reason to be left out of the conversation. "Maybe it's 'cause Green bonded with Pidge?"

"Mom always says everything has latent affinity," Pidge said. "Maybe this woke Green's."

"Why would that matter?" Keith asked. "Affinity for what? What does it mean?"

"All done," Hunk yelled. "Feel better, Green?"

The lion raised her head, swinging it around to lower her nose to Hunk's chest. He laughed and swatted at her. From across the hangar, Yellow's sonorous rumble was unmistakable. Hunk just laughed harder. Yellow huffed once and was silent.

"Affinity is like… being left-handed or right-handed," Matt said. "If you're left-handed and you use right-handed scissors, they don't fit your hand. They'll hurt to use. That's what we call an affinity backlash."

"Sorry, Green," Pidge said, accepting Matt's hand up. "Next time we'll go slower, and test out a little at a time."

"Next time?" Matt shook his head.

Lance put on a smile, accepting Pidge's hand up in turn. He wasn't going to say anything, if the siblings saw the topic as settled. Four years of wandering, and Lance had heard of only one non-Vakarian who'd mastered Vakarian magic. Maybe Green's exposure to Pidge had let the lion spontaneously develop an affinity. Lance doubted it. After all, if was true, Green should've been left-handed or left-footed or whatever affinity Pidge had.

No, the explanation was probably a lot simpler. Somewhere under those layers of bone and metal, Green was Vakarian.

 

 

 

Keith waited at the edge of the group, annoyed no one had brought up what Green had done. Going completely berserk on the battlefield, tearing apart a lizard-tanka, attacking the other lions. Pidge hadn't been in control, but knowing the enmity between their peoples, it was hard not to take it personally.

Especially when Red was still sulking about it. Keith rolled his shoulders, able to feel Red's exhausted glare on his back. He didn't like seeing anyone suffer, but he wanted to get back to Red and reassure the big cat. The problem was he had no idea how long the effects would last.

Allura pulled Matt and Ulaz aside, speaking in an undertone. Keith took a step back, preparing to slip away.

Shiro looked over, head tilted. "Keith?"

Keith shook his head, not sure how to answer and feeling like a fool. He shoved back at Red's growl, moving to stand at Shiro's elbow. Shiro twisted slightly to smile down at him. Keith did his best to look serious, and not somewhat ill as another wave of nausea swept over him.

Allura's two shadows left with Ulaz and Matt, and Allura turned to the five paladins. Somehow they'd ended up flanking Shiro, Pidge and Hunk on one side, Keith and Lance on the other. Shiro stood with his feet apart, braced, arms crossed.

"Paladins." Allura cleared her throat, one hand on her chest. "I'm afraid we didn't get off to the best start, and… first, Hunk. I want to thank you." Her smile didn't quite fit, but she was trying. "I never wanted to use them, but I didn't know they could be destroyed. Now that they are… I thought about it, and I'm glad. You were right."

Hunk muttered something, and Allura's smile settled into place, no longer so strained.

"I want to be honest with the five of you." She folded her hands before her. "We're not in a good situation."

Keith realized with a start that she wore the same clothes as the day before. Other than collapsing after pouring enough energy into Black, had she slept at all?

"Three more Vakarians have joined the crew," Allura said. "They arrived perhaps two hours ago. They'll be our conduits to rally the—"

"Three Vakarians? Why?" Pidge demanded. "How ignorant are you? Our laws grant anyone over seventh rank to complete a kill order. And you _invited_ them here?"

"Understood, but they aren't in Vakar. So long as the contract lasts, they won't touch you or your brother. I'm glad your brother was willing to come."

Keith glanced up at Shiro, startled to see the tension in Shiro's shoulders. Allura had requested Pidge bring back another family member? Why would that have Shiro on edge?

"He's agreed to be my ears, because I need someone on my side." Allura spread her hands, a strangely helpless gesture. "I've asked Lords Thace and Ulaz to remain, as well. I have need of their insight. As for you five… I hope the ministers' actions have not done permanent damage to any chance of understanding between each of you, and me."

"Well, it helps that you left the worst of them behind," Lance drawled.

"Truthfully, I didn't have much say in the matter." Allura's smile was nearly impish. "But neither did I protest all that much when they volunteered to stay."

"We're not in Altea anymore, though," Pidge said, her tone bordering on surly. "What's the point of guardians with nothing to guard?"

"It's true the lions exist to defend the land." Allura sighed. "And it's true I'm merely a figurehead, and one in a rather precarious position, at that. Especially since… it's possible that for the first time in Altea's history, there may be several claimants of equal validity."

Keith had no idea what that meant. Shiro didn't seem inclined to say anything. Keith glanced at Lance, who grinned, too easily.

"More than one legitimate ruler, princess?" Lance asked.

"I'm afraid so."

"What does that mean, for us?" Keith asked.

"I'm not precisely certain, but it's possible the lions may be caught between us. However, the regalia remains locked away in Altea, except the rings Hunk destroyed. Until I know more, we may be able to assume the lions are able to act of their own will, combined with yours."

From Shiro's growing scowl and the chill radiating off him, Keith had the distinct impression Shiro was not impressed with the princess' words.

Allura wasn't impervious, though. She swallowed visibly, her smile slipping. "I'm putting my trust in each of you, that you were chosen because you have some quality each lion saw as worthy."

When she paused, Keith could practically hear her unspoken plea that they not give her reason to regret it. In the back of his head, Red growled, anxious.

"I only know of four times a paladin has been able to counteract the monarch's orders," Allura continued. "In all four cases, the paladin had a bond with their lion far beyond most. I don't know how or what. My great-grandmother's notes said only that the bond transcended time and distance."

"So there are two possible queens, maybe more," Hunk said. "No offense, but you're still not giving us any reason to choose you."

Allura nodded, a jerky motion. "I've been thinking about it, and I'm considering that—" She broke off.

Keith studied her white curls, tumbling down over her shoulders. The curls shivered in the hangar's cool air. The princess was shaking, badly.

Allura steeled herself. "I'm questioning whether Altea is even worth saving."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> music for editing this chapter was [Path to Freedom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fFFutgMnwVA), another apt choice.

Allura hunched her shoulders, mortified. She couldn't quite manage to look anyone in the eyes. She should be joining the meeting with Thace and Hira, and to find out whether the Vakarians had made contact with the armies, not blurting out her deepest fears to people who had no reason to look kindly on her for it. She couldn't seem to move.

"That seems a little extreme," Hunk said. "What would you do, just abdicate?"

"No," Allura said. "I thought—"

"You'll let those ministers take over?" Lance's tone was as cold as his expression. "Guess you approved of the job they were doing, after all."

Allura grimaced. "Hardly! I only—"

"First sign of things getting tough, and you quit." Pidge looked furious.

"That's not what I—"

Keith's skin was paler than usual, the mark on his cheek dark in contrast. "How can you ask us to defend your land, when you won't?"

"I didn't—"

All four began talking at once, drowning out her protests. Hunk looked disappointed, Lance bored, Pidge angry, Keith disgusted. Only Shiro said nothing, but his chest heaved with a sigh.

"Stop." Shiro's single word brought the four-way argument to a halt. "Princess, finish."

For anyone else, Allura would have given a gracious smile in response, but something about Shiro made her give a tight nod, instead. His expression eased.

Allura raised a hand, with a faint hope no one would notice how badly it shook. "According to the last royal census—" She stopped, reminded of Lord Thace's advice. Speak plainly and to the point; these five were not ministers in the court. "For every Altean who is free, another three are not. And for every person who is literate, well-shod, well-fed, _and_ the master of their house, another _eighty_ are not."

Her words prompted a round of shocked reactions, except for Shiro. She had no idea if he was literate beyond the basics he'd needed as a dekan, but neither was he stupid. More likely he was wondering why she'd taken so long to see the obvious.

"We export cloth, wines, ceramics, and paper, but our largest export is war. Of those eighty people, about fifty are currently fighting in a foreign land, on some other people's behalf." Allura struggled to keep the anger from her voice, knowing they'd misunderstand. "Altea is rich because of that blood money."

Hunk was nearly green. Pidge wore a troubled expression, like she was doing math of her own. Lance looked sad, while Keith seemed ready to argue. Only Shiro remained impassive. It was enough to send Allura back a step, arms crossed, defensive.

"We have no schools, no universities. Our borders are closed except to the few who can pay enough, or know someone high enough, to gain entrance. A hundred-twenty ministerial positions, every single one occupied by the same family, for generations. All our trades are controlled by guilds, and membership in those are also hereditary. That means no work for freed slaves or immigrants, except manual labor or the army."

Her ears still rang from the harsh words from Radala, Vara, even Martan. Shiro's calm at his first meeting with Allura was even more remarkable in hindsight. In twenty-two years of life, Allura had never before known Radala's status was due to a great-great-great-grandmother's debts. She'd never realized the army required a soldier to purchase and maintain their weapons and armor, or that laborers had to pay for their apprenticeships. The deeper shame was knowing she'd never even thought to ask.

"I called up the guardians to prove I'm the legitimate Queen. All that really means is I say yes or no when the ministers decide it's time to trade Altean lives for foreign gold." Allura laughed, bitterly. "I have no say in the betterment of my people. I cannot educate, house, feed, or even free my people. The only thing I can do as Queen is decide who dies."

Hunk's face was set in grim lines. Pidge stared at Green, behind Allura. Lance had closed his eyes, while Keith's head was down. Only Shiro met her eyes, and she didn't see anger, or even disapproval. She saw pity.

"It gets worse," Allura burst out. "Even if someone is lucky enough to survive the war, they've had to pay for all their armor, their weapons, their ammunition, the fuel they used… they come home so far into debt, they must immediately sell themselves as chattel. I free someone, but what then? If they want to join a trade, they must pay for their own apprenticeship!"

"More debt," Pidge whispered.

"Exactly. It's like one of those games that markets have, where the person has three cups and they just switch it around—" Allura made frantic hand motions, too upset to remember the word. "Back and forth like this? It's like that."

"A shell game?" Hunk asked.

Allura shook her head. "It's, it's, it's the kind of game—you can't win—it's—"

"Rigged," Shiro said.

"Yes!" Allura pounded a fist against her palm. "Rigged! All of it—" The admission took the fight right out of her. "I don't know. All I can think is… what exactly in Altea is even worth saving?"

No one answered. The silence stretched out, until Allura wanted to scream. She couldn't walk away, but she had no idea how to move forward, and she refused to take a step until she had an objective.

Keith's armor dissolved to reveal his plain Marmora tunic and breeches. "The people."

"What?" Allura stared at him, tracing her scattered thoughts back to the actual topic.

"The people," he repeated. "That's why you fight. That's what you save. The people."

Lance gave a dismissive shrug. "None of what's wrong has anything to do with Daibazaal."

"And a lot of that, Daibazaal will fix," Pidge said. "My tutors said the Galra don't believe in slavery, or hereditary positions. Like in guilds or the government, I guess."

"They don't," Keith said. "But to have command or rank in Daibazaal, you have to be Galra. _Full_ Galra."

"Daibazaal will fix some things, and break a lot more," Hunk added. "If you're not Galra, you're a second-class citizen. Free in name, but nothing else. Least of all the right to worship your own people's gods."

"So, not really an improvement," Lance said.

Shiro gave Allura a flat look. "First step is to get Daibazaal out."

"And after that comes the hard work," Allura said. "Saving Altea."

 

 

 

Hunk wanted to agree. High aspirations and all that, but there was no way the doing would be easy. He stepped forward, hand raised, right as Keith stumbled backwards.

Shiro reacted fastest, catching Keith before he hit the deck. Pidge immediately twisted around to look at Red, while Lance barely had his hands out. Shiro lowered Keith down, calling his name and patting his cheeks, gently, until Keith's eyes opened.

"Did Red get hurt and he just didn't say anything?" Pidge asked.

"I don't think that's the problem," Hunk said.

Keith seemed dazed, and his color was off. Perhaps he meant to push Shiro's hand away, but his gesture had no real force.

"I'll get Ulaz," Allura said, and took off.

"Was I the only one counting?" Hunk rolled his eyes at the ring of surprised faces. "He 'n Red took a hit for Blue, then one for Yellow, and blocked three more meant for Black."

"In Red?" Lance looked horrified. "That lion's too small to take that kind of punishment. One hit had Blue—"

From beneath their feet, Blue growled. Red raised his head, eyes gleaming in the hangar's murk.

"Yeah, yeah," Lance yelled at Red, who lashed his tail, thumping the hangar walls. "I'm just saying there's not a lot of you compared to the punch in that cannonfire."

"I don't think it's the punch," Hunk said. "It didn't even budge Yellow—"

"Yeah, but Yellow's almost as big as Black," Pidge said. "Should I go see what's holding up Ulaz?"

Shiro glanced up at the doors, still swaying in Allura's passage. "No, but I think some water might be good." He helped Keith sit up.

Pidge ran for the ladder, heading to the airship's kitchen.

"Lance," Hunk said. "When you got hit, you felt sick, too?"

"Yeah, like I'd eaten something bad." Lance pursed his mouth, considering. "Not bad enough to be ill, just… dizzy."

"Quintessence poisoning," Shiro said. "It's an additive. Daibazaal puts it in most of their armaments. Modern tanka have mechanisms to block the effects."

"We need a modern tanka, then." Hunk looked across the hangar. "Wasn't this airship carrying some, before we got here?" He couldn't see any other reason a prince's airship would need a hangar so big. "If I could get my hands on one, I could figure out how to apply that to the lions."

"Careful," Lance said. "You saw what happened to Pidge."

"Don't worry, I'm always careful," Hunk promised. "Hey, wait, aren't army-kites a form of tanka?"

Keith's breathing had calmed, though he rubbed his eyes. Shiro stayed beside him, a hand on Keith's back for support. Shiro gave Hunk a distracted nod.

"Most are," Shiro said. "Why?"

"Hey!" Pidge's voice came from the ladder. A hand appeared at the edge of the platform, holding a full jug of water. "Someone?" Pidge called.

Lance took the jug, and gave her a hand up, pulling her right up onto the platform. She yelped, and Lance grinned.

"We have some in the hold," Hunk said. "Come on, Lance, you're with me."

"Me? Why me?" Lance asked.

"'Cause you're not busy, and that never turns out well."

 

 

 

Allura burst in on the captain's room, glad to find Ulaz standing beside Coran while Thace reviewed Hira's map. The four were alone, the rest of Hira's retinue occupied with the Vakarian magi.

"Ulaz," Allura said. "Keith, in the hangar, passed-out. See to—" She caught herself. Lord Ulaz was not a servant. "I'm sorry, Lord Ulaz."

"I have no need of a title." Ulaz exchanged a glance with Thace, and pushed away from the wall. "I'll see to him immediately."

Allura turned to follow, but Hira called her back.

"Princess, we need to discuss your actions," Hira said. "You have released two of my most valuable lieutenants—"

"No." Between the rings' destruction and the paladins' return, Allura had had enough. "They were not _yours_ , General. They were _mine_ , and I chose to free them."

"This is not the time!" Hira slammed a hand down on the conference table. "We are at _war_. You would lose me two people when we have no one to spare!"

Allura hid the flinch, hearing the echo of her own argument to Shiro, when they'd first met. "We should absolutely be sparing any who are not loyal."

Thace's expression remained neutral. No sign to alert anyone else she parroted his argument, almost word for word.

"If those torques were the only means of obtaining their loyalty, that's no loyalty at all," Allura finished.

"You are free to release the members of your own household, such as you still have," Hira said, with a quick glance at Coran. "But you cannot release soldiers from my service without even a warning to me—"

"I did not release them from _your_ service," Allura said, stung. "I gave them the freedom to choose."

Vara had asked to leave, and Radala was considering it. Allura knew she'd feel their absence acutely, after never knowing a time either wasn't with her. But as Thace had pointed out, a person's freedom meant her need could not override theirs.

"And forced me to be distracted by negotiation right when I need them to perform as expected," Hira snapped. "Princess, I understand you have the idealism of youth, but you must think of the larger picture. You should've waited until each had some achievement worthy of such largesse—"

"They've spent their lives wearing my family's torque!" Allura struggled to remember the way Thace had put it, how he'd broken down the walls to let her see the horizon. "There is no largesse that could ever match the sacrifice of being reduced to less than—"

"Please," Hira said, in a tone so close to begging that it stopped Allura short. "Princess, _please_. Do you not realize that when word gets out, we could end up with revolts within our own ranks? Not only from our foot soldiers, but from necessary allies—" Hira made a choking sound, and her voice dropped to a shocked whisper. "You plan to free _all_ the chattel."

Allura drew herself up, and hoped her voice didn't shake. "I do."

"You foolish child, do you have any clue what you're jeopardizing? Now is not the time. As the general of your armies, I cannot allow this. The risks are too high."

It was too late to take anything back, and Allura wasn't sure she could, as long as Thace's steady gaze lay so heavy on her. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said, as calmly as she could. "But my mind will not be changed."

Hira straightened up from her lean over the table, brows lowered. She turned, studied the map for a moment. When she turned back around, she'd come to a decision. Allura braced herself. She'd weighed Thace's words, she'd sat silent and listening as Radala, then Vara, then Martan, spoke their minds freely for the first time since she'd met each. Her decision, however impulsive, was the first decree she'd truly made as a Queen, and she liked to think Thace was right that it signaled a good beginning.

She couldn't walk away from that. She would _not_ break her word.

"Fine," Hira said, quietly. "We can offer freedom as the reward for joining our forces. We're going to lose some of the more hardline nobles, but as long as we move carefully, it might be doable."

Allura wanted to shake her fists in fury. "But—"

"No, princess." Hira held up a hand. "Please leave it to those of us with greater experience as to how to put those into effect. Regaining Altea, and your throne, must always be the highest priority."

Allura had trained under Hira's watchful eyes for enough years to recognize when the general wouldn't be swayed. It would have to do, however much it rankled.

"One other thing," Allura said, because she refused to let Hira's word be the final say. "The five paladins are mine alone to command. If you have direction for them, you will report to me and I will relay it. But we need them."

Hira's mouth was a flat line. "All the more reason you should be furious they'd—"

Thace straightened up, arms falling to his sides.

"Fine." Hira dismissed Allura with a half-hearted wave. "We'll discuss this later. Go see to the paladin. Coran, I'll need your assistance drafting the new contracts."

So much for getting the last word. Allura nodded to Coran, and left, steps heavy. Thace caught up with her, and she gave him a rueful smile.

"Is it wrong of me to feel like she has a point?" Allura sighed. "The crown had forty people. Most of whom have been freed by Daibazaal, I suppose. Some of the nobles have a hundred… and that's not counting the thousands in the army."

"If you mean she's pointing out the enormity of your choice, yes." Thace had a kind smile, a soft curve against the angular sharpness of his face. "For hundreds of years, Altea's economy has been built on the backs of slaves. Dismantling that system means dismantling everything that rested upon it."

"I just… what would be left? And what if I fail?"

"I think the evil of what you're leaving behind outweighs everything else," Thace said. "However, Daibazaal's attack is an opportunity. Unify your people under a single banner to defeat the opponent."

Allura considered that. She'd figured out quickly that Thace preferred her to come up with a reasoned argument, however fallible, than to simply ask for his opinion. They were approaching the doors leading to the upper hangar deck, and the end of their privacy.

"When I met Hunk, he said he wouldn't fight unless it were his home," Allura mused. "If a person felt they stood to gain nothing but more servitude, can it really be their home?"

Thace's smile was both answer and reward.

 

 

 

Shiro waited as Ulaz listened to Keith's pulse. Ulaz' ears were flat against his head. Thace stood back with Allura, eyes narrowed, while Pidge nearly hopped in place, too worried to stand still.

Keith looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. "I'm fine," he said, tugging at his wrist.

"You're fine when I say you're fine," Ulaz replied. "Hold still."

Shiro stayed in a crouch beside Keith, hand around Keith's back. He was pretty sure Keith could sit up by his own, but Keith continued to lean into Shiro's arm, head tilted to the side to rest against Shiro's shoulder. Ulaz hummed and let go of Keith's wrist.

"Is it bad?" Allura asked.

Pidge wriggled her fingers, worried. Thace set a hand on Pidge's shoulder and bent over, whispering into her ear. Pidge grabbed the half-empty jug of water and left, while Ulaz took Keith by the arm, helping him up.

"The effects should wear off in another hour," Ulaz said. "I don't have any sairox on hand, but we may be able to get some once we've landed in Reiphod."

"What does sairox do?" Allura asked.

"It's a compound used to treat allergies," Ulaz said. "Sairox won't cure nor prevent the reaction to the irritant Daibazaal uses, but it should alleviate the worst of it."

Shiro stood with Keith, not sure if he should let go, now. Despite being his Olkari hand, Shiro could feel the curious pressure of Keith's muscles against the prosthetic palm.

"I'll go with him," Shiro offered.

Ulaz frowned. "I don't—"

"No, I think that's wisest," Allura said. "Rest, please, Keith. When you're ready, we'll be meeting in the captain's conference room. Shiro, after you've gotten Keith settled, I'll be on the bridge."

Shiro nodded, seeing the implied command for what it was. He steered Keith around the group and into the corridor off the upper hangar deck, keeping his silence until he knew no one could overhear them.

"Three cannonshot meant for Black," Shiro said, amazed. "Why would you? Black can handle it." Given Red's touchiness, no need to poke at the wound Lance had already created.

"But what about you?" Keith paused at the intersection with another corridor, seemingly turned around. "I think it's that way?"

"We're on the same corridor," Shiro said, steering Keith in the opposite direction. "This way. And I'm fine."

"Are you?" Keith glanced up, eyes sharp from behind the messy fall of his hair. "It's cool on this ship, but you're sweating."

Shiro set his jaw. He thought he'd done a better job of hiding it. "It's no worse than anything else I've been through."

"Right," Keith said, as though this proved his point.

When Shiro raised his brows, confused, Keith huffed. He sounded enough like Red that Shiro struggled to hide a smile.

"And I'll do it again, too." Keith stopped at one of the doors. "I recognize that symbol. I think this is my room."

"Join us when you're ready." Shiro pointed down the hall. "Take those stairs up to the top. The conference room is just before the bridge."

"You could…" Keith put one hand on the doorknob.

It took a heartbeat to register the invitation, and just as quickly to dismiss the notion as a product of an over-eager imagination. Until Shiro had met the rest of the paladins, Keith had been the entirety of Shiro's experience with anyone close to his age—at least, who'd look Shiro in the eyes instead of staring at the torque around his neck.

But then, Thace and Ulaz had proven true Shiro's fuzzy childhood recollections of the Marmora. They were an honorable people who accorded dignity even to strangers. Keith was perhaps fifteen years junior to the elder Marmora, but clearly cut from the same cloth.

Keith's expression had shifted to puzzlement. Shiro cleared his throat, belatedly realizing he was supposed to hold up his half of the conversation. Oddly, his hand was still on the small of Keith's back. He removed it, embarrassed.

"I'm supposed to speak with the princess," Shiro said.

He felt a fool, and doubly so when Keith's gaze dropped. The loaned tunic had a high neckline, but the warm metal around his neck felt unexpectedly bulky, as if calling Keith's attention to itself. The thought hurt, enough to make Shiro's chest ache worse than the Daibazaal cannonfire.

"Maybe later," Shiro offered, unable to finish the thought in a rush of dismay.

Later, to do what? They were stuck on an airship, and having the full run of it was an unfamiliar—and strangely terrifying—state. He'd never had rights to wander Oriande's castle fully, either, but at least there he knew the limits of his freedom enough to pretend at comfort within them. Here, he had no idea where he stood, or how much space he was allowed. The Daibazaal cannonfire wasn't half as disorienting as everything else, right then.

"Oh." Keith smiled, and it lit his entire face. "I'd like that."

Right, Shiro wanted to say, but he wasn't sure what he'd promised, though it felt like one. He settled for nodding, a bit numb. He should return Thace's clothing, except Ulaz had taken away Shiro's only other clothes. That could be a reason to return, later. Or perhaps—no, he needed to stop standing in the corridor, gawking like he'd been knocked in the head.

Keith didn't lose the smile, but he broke the stalemate by opening the door to his quarters. Shiro turned away before he could glimpse the room past Keith. He didn't need further ideas taunting him. He was halfway down the corridor, heading for the stairs, when he realized the thrumming in his chest wasn't his own rapid heartbeat, but Black's deep purr.

The lion said nothing, showed nothing. Only a comforting rumble at exactly the right pitch, the sensation flooding Shiro with long-forgotten childhood memories. He climbed the steep airship stairs, head reeling. Finally he had to stop, one hand pressed to his chest. He forced the images away, breathing through his nose until his heart returned to its usual steady pace.

He found the princess on the bridge, studying a map with her red-haired assistant and the white-haired woman from the ship's crew. The captain and the pilot were the only other crew visible in the round space. Windows ringed almost the entire room, a panorama view of rolling fields and sparkling blue in the distance. They'd reached the outer sea and the crossing to Reiphod.

"Shiro." Allura murmured something to the other two, and joined Shiro. "This way."

He followed, on guard. Black growled, and Shiro shoved back at the lion. Shiro could handle Martan and Hira, now that those rings were destroyed. And while he retained doubts of the princess' ability to juggle the forces around her and against her, at least she wasn't the spoiled girl he'd first thought her to be. She was willing to think, to listen, and to revise her position accordingly. A good sign, and a necessary skill for a leader, in his opinion.

She led him back down to the state-room level, but headed away from the rooms. She stopped at a small door at the end of the corridor, turning to him with a smile, and withdrew a folded paper from the hip-pocket of her uniform.

"This is for you," she said, presenting it with both hands. "It's a formal statement of the dissolution of your debt."

"My debt?" Shiro accepted the paper, opening it automatically, scanning the densely-packed script. He knew his numbers, and the simple script. The writing on the page was neither. He folded the paper and tucked it into his sleeve.

"Whatever debt you were repaying." Allura's smile tightened. Her tone remained level, as though she weren't testing. "Without the details, I had to guess, but either way, it's forgiven."

"I see." He supposed he was expected to thank her, but he mostly felt tired. In the back of his head, Black curled around him, easing the knots between Shiro's shoulder blades. It gave him the strength to hold his ground. "I didn't ask for myself. I asked that you end slavery in Altea."

"You _do_ realize you're included in that category, right?" Allura's smile was crooked, her brows wrinkled. She was teasing him.

He loosened his shoulders enough to smile back at her, a silent admission.

"Anyway, yes," Allura said, pulling the door open. "Now we'll have the same discussion I've had with five others today. Come on out, it's not that chilly as long as you stay behind the baffle."

Shiro followed her onto the balcony. A ridge stood out from the airship's side, a wind-block she'd called the baffle. He studied the ground passing far below, fast enough it blurred. The distant shore had grown closer.

Allura raised her hands, reaching for him. Startled, Shiro backed up so quickly his back hit the door. Allura froze, looking as surprised as he felt.

"What are you doing?" Shiro asked.

"Removing the torque," Allura said. "You're free, now."

"I understand, but you can't—you must—" His throat closed, and forcing out the words left him shaking. "Leave it."

Allura's eyes went wide, emotions flitting across her face to fast to track. "You're joking," she finally burst out. "You _want_ to keep wearing that? Everyone else couldn't wait to see theirs thrown overboard!"

He didn't doubt it. He loathed the torque just as much, but he treasured his soul more. "You can't," he repeated, praying she wouldn't ask.

Of course he wouldn't be that lucky.

"You have to tell me why," she demanded. "You're my Black Paladin, now. You haven't refused that, but if you do, I'd refuse your refusal in return. I need your help to remake Altea. I _can't_ do it without you, but I won't be someone who'd insist you help free others yet refuse to allow you—"

"I'm not—" Shiro couldn't look her in the eyes, but neither would he close his eyes and leave himself vulnerable. He stared at the base of her neck, instead. "You can't remove it, princess."

She snorted. "I can, too. The laws of inheritance granted you to me, and that means I'm the only one who can—"

"No, you can't. It must be a priest of the fifth god."

Which wasn't entirely true, since the Daibazaal prison guards had torn it from his neck and broken it in front of him. But he also had no memories of what had happened after that. As far as he'd been able to guess, it'd taken almost a moon before he'd had full command of his senses, again. Worse, the few times he'd seen a guard's face, none of them had been any of those he'd met on his first arrival. He'd done his best to avoid giving that too much thought.

"Leave it," he repeated.

"Fine. But the instant I find a priest, we'll remove that torque." Allura lowered her hands, shoulders slumped. "I wish you'd just tell me why."

"I wish you'd not ask me again." Shiro waited, wanting her acknowledgement as much as she wanted his. The irony wasn't lost on him, but there was nothing else he could see to do.

Allura frowned, her nod a regal dismissal. Shiro gave her a soldier's abbreviated bow and left the balcony. As he stepped back into the silent corridor, Black's presence curled around him, and Shiro could've sworn he felt the sensation of fur as thick as velvet, brushing past him.


	14. Chapter 14

Lance kept up a bored commentary for about a half-hour before suggesting he fetch Pidge to help Hunk, instead.

"Pidge would be more useful." Hunk had a hand on one of the army-kites, doing whatever Balmerans did when they talked to metal.

"I heard that _more_ in there," Lance muttered, hopping down from his perch along the hold's horizontal baffles. "I'll send her down."

With Pidge deployed, Lance was free to wander the airship. He poked his head into rooms if the door was open, but left the closed doors for someone truly nosy like Hunk. He followed voices until he found the bridge, but the view below of rolling whitecaps in the outer sea only made him homesick.

"You okay, young paladin?" The red-haired man was one of Allura's near-constant companions. Lance racked his brains for the man's name. Coran. "You seem down."

The captain was at the helm, speaking with a younger woman, probably the pilot. An older woman placed markers on a map pinned along the wall. With the dull roar of the wind hammering at the glass walls around them, it was almost like private pockets within the space.

"Just wondering what I've gotten myself into," Lance admitted.

"You've accepted a challenge," Coran said. "It's not easy, and it's going to take time to adjust."

"Sure, if I even knew where to start." Lance had never seen the ocean from so far above. How did the albatrosses know where fish were, from this high?

Coran watched the water as well, but his gaze seemed preoccupied. "I'd think that's a question for the guardians. They've got a lot more experience than any of us, when it comes to their task."

That reminded Lance, and it seemed like a good enough distraction. "Where did they come from? I mean, they can't have just shown up one day and said, hey, here we are."

"Well, not exactly, but sort of." Coran put a hand to the small of his back and smoothed his mustache, a thinking posture. "When they first appeared, Altea was barely even a kingdom. More like a loose affiliation of refugee tribes."

"Refugees?" Lance asked, surprised. Altea looked and acted like it'd always been there, as unyielding as the mountain that formed its capital city. "From where?"

"Everywhere." Coran shrugged. "Balmeran, Polluxian, Yendali, Galran, Vakarian, even a settlement of Pavoni in the Great Oriande. Balmerans constructed the original castle, though you'll never find that in history books."

"Yeah, I guess not." Lance kept his tone casual. If he'd known, he would've explored the river instead of urging Blue to return to the castle. Then again, six hundred years was a long time. "You make it sound like Altea was just a bunch of empty mountains, room for anyone to move in."

"Oh, certainly not, young paladin," Coran said, grinning. "The original Alteans weren't pleased at the intrusions, but as long as they were left alone, they allowed the tribes to resettle."

Lance hadn't been the best student, but he'd paid enough attention to history lessons to be skeptical. "How long did that leaving-alone actually last?"

"Maybe a generation or two? Less than a hundred years, certainly. When the Polluxian tribes negotiated an accord between the Alteans and the newcomers, that's considered the true beginning of Altea."

"Didn't do them much good, did it." Lance shrugged at Coran's raised brows. "Now it's just Alteans. Guess they got sick of those accords and sent everyone home."

"Hardly. The refugees' descendants are modern Alteans." Coran stroked his bright red hair. "We're a blend after so long, but not entirely. Somewhere in my family, we must've had a Vakarian ancestor." He tapped the bioluminescent patch on one cheek. "And a Pavoni."

"I've seen plenty of Polluxians with those marks," Lance replied.

"Ah, but that's because three hundred years ago—in the schism when Galra broke into Thaldycon and Daibazaal—Pollux sided with Daibazaal. Unfortunately for Pollux, their neighbors didn't. Yendalia and Pavonis struck from both sides, razing Pollux. Altea sent people to rebuild and repopulate, and most of Polluxian is Altean, now."

Now they were into history Lance did know enough to dispute. Pollux hadn't been anything close to innocent, but they were getting off the point.

"All that was three hundred years later, though," Lance said. "If Altea was peaceful when it started, why did it need guardians?"

"When Altea was newly formed, it had no real defenses yet. At the time, a Karthulian warlord conquered Rygnirath and Thayserix, and expanded into Reiphod. From the north, the Dalterian tribes had taken Chandra and Thaldycon, then turned south after the Balmerans repelled them."

Lance considered the geography. "With plans to meet in the middle… in Altea. Winner takes all, I guess?"

"Precisely. The four strongest tribes gathered, each bringing a representative god to join the effort."

"Wow." Lance whistled. "I don't know much about your five gods, but pretty sweet they gave you something so amazing." His own people's elders wouldn't even spit out a simple hello without a sixteen-generation pedigree and a few body parts for good measure.

"I'm not sure about giving," Coran said, softly. "The legends are rather fuzzy on the details, as legends tend to be."

"Yeah." Lance smiled to himself at Blue's bored prodding. She wanted company. He pushed away from the glass, as a last question popped into his head. "Where happened to the original Alteans, then? Did they eventually get along and blend with the rest?"

"Ah, no. They were…" Coran frowned, troubled. "Sadly, as Altea grew, the people moved up the mountains, encroaching on the original peoples' sacred aeries. They were hunted into extinction."

Ironic that Altea said a host's rights were sacrosanct, when they'd slaughtered their own hosts to create their kingdom. 

"Some stories say Altea wasn't their true homeland, that it was Yendalia, even Talwar." Coran sighed. "No country is without its dark chapters, I suppose."

"Yendalia's mostly Galra." Lance sent Blue a promise he was on his way. "Maybe your original Alteans were actually Galran?"

"Oh, I think it'd be obvious if that were true. The original Alteans were lokassa."

Lance nearly swallowed his tongue in shock. "You could've mentioned that part, first!" Those original Polluxian refugees had been a gutsy people, if they'd arranged peace accords with creatures as bloodthirsty and rapacious as the Lokassi.

Coran chuckled. "Well, I'm sure the stories of their ferocity have been exaggerated over the centuries. Or perhaps not so much. Why, as a young pup myself, I can remember having my parents check under my bed repeatedly, just in case."

"Same." Lance's laugh faded, another thought coming to mind. "You named six groups, not counting the lo—" He shuddered, not even sure if he should believe that part of Coran's story. "If the four strongest tribes asked for help—wouldn't that be four gods?"

"The fifth one came from one of the smaller tribes. Either Pavoni or Yendali. I'm not sure of that part of the story, though. The Balmerans have only ever had their one god. It's hard to believe they'd ask that god to become one among many, so I'd think two gods came from the smaller tribes."

"Seems kinda farfetched to give away a god, though," Lance muttered.

Coran drew himself up to his full height, peering down his nose at Lance. "That's the entire point of legends, young paladin! They must be larger than everyday life, or how will they inspire you?"

"I think a lokassa god would just inspire me to run really fast." Lance sensed Blue's annoyance growing, and backed up. "Thanks for the history lesson, but Blue says she wants me to visit."

Coran's mock-indignation melted into a smile. "Of course! Never keep a guardian waiting."

"Right." Lance waved in passing to the ship's crew, turning his footsteps towards the hangar.

Blue greeted him with a huff, and Lance laughed at the images she sent. She hadn't been bored half as much as she wanted to tease the red lion. Red had apparently been grumbling about Keith feeling ill and no one coming to console Red about it.

Lance scratched his head, not sure whether he should wander over and do that, then, when Red sat up on his platform with a furious roar. Red thrashed his tail and flopped over on his side, back to the hangar. Black's wings twitched slightly, and Yellow appeared to heave a silent sigh. Blue's eyes narrowed and she sank down, disgruntled.

"What the—" Lance looked back and forth between the lions.

Like eavesdropping through a wall, he'd caught just the edges of Red's meaning. Blue's reaction brought the fuzzy parts into focus. Keith had mastered Red's firepower, but Lance hadn't managed the same with Blue. Red was certain he'd scored points on Keith's behalf.

Lance glowered up at Red. "Oh, now it's _on_."

One problem: there was no getting Blue out without getting Black to move, and Black was pointedly ignoring everyone. It felt a little odd to get caught up in the lions' rivalry, but there couldn't be harm in playing along. They'd fought well enough side-by-side, after all.

He sent Blue images of his idea, and went looking for Shiro. He finally tracked the man down in one of the upper corridors that ran along the hull. Shiro stood with his arms crossed, lost in thought, watching the receding Altean shoreline.

"Hey, Shiro, gotta favor to ask," Lance said. "I want to work with Blue a bit, but I figure… best to work in pairs, just in case. Any chance you and Black wanna come along?"

"Do what?" Shiro turned, brows coming up. A massive roar echoed through the entire airship, and Shiro grinned. "Does that answer your question?"

A quarter-hour later Black exited the airship, then Blue. Lance waved to Matt by the hangar latch. Blue roared, head back and mouth raised as if she could eat the wind streaking across the gray-blue outer sea. Lance slid into Blue's interior, where the wind's force no longer tore Shiro's voice away from his ears.

"Alright," Shiro said, as if getting his bearings. "If we get separated from the airship, rendezvous at Algedi. Keep your bearing west-south-west, that'll put you on a direct path towards Algedi."

"Sure, if only I had a compass. How about you just keep flying in the same direction, and if I get separated, we'll find you?" Lance couldn't deny himself or Blue any longer. "See you in a bit!"

"A what?" Shiro asked. "Where are you going?"

"Somewhere you can't follow, but we'll be back!" Lance put Blue into a nosedive.

The lion roared her delight, forelegs curling into a lunge. They hit the water at top speed, not exactly cutting through the surface cleanly, but Lance didn't care. Water filled the cabin instantly. Lance grinned as his body adjusted, his third eyelid sliding into place, eyesight narrowing to the luminescence of warmth and electrical signals. He let water rush over his tongue, tasting the messages on the currents.

 _Big fish_ , Blue said, excited, with an image.

 _Not big_ , Lance shot back. The standard river guppy was barely longer than Lance's forearm.

 _Very big_. Blue transposed the image, and set it beside an image of Red.

Lance nearly choked on the thought of a river guppy as large as the recalcitrant red lion, and then he caught the taste in the current. _We are not eating a whale for dinner._ Lance tightened his fingers, pushing with his legs. Blue evened out, forelegs compact, back legs stretched long.

 _Big fish_ , Blue repeated, disappointed.

They sped beneath the surface, at the edge of the sunlight's reach. Large fish scattered as they streaked past. The lion's mechanical sounds were so foreign in the noisy outer sea that most of the predators probably had no idea whether to fight or hide.

 _Alright, Shiro's got to be worried by now_ , Lance told Blue. _Let's head back._

They burst from the ocean, heading straight upwards. At about five hundred sticks or so, Lance leveled Blue out, then slowed to turn in a circle. There was nothing but endless ocean in all directions. Far to the east the blue sky faded, a hint of distant clouds.

"Shiro?" Lance called. "Did we end up behind you?"

"You just dove and disappeared," Shiro's voice felt comfortably close in Lance's ears. "Matt's been trying to reach you, too."

"Oh, sorry about that, Matt." Lance filed away that thought. If he ever needed true stealth, now he knew one way to at least hide from his own teammates. Blue huffed, pleased with the idea.

"Yeah, well, we gotta find a way around that," Matt said, as though he shouted across a distance. "Where did you surface?"

"Over the water," Lance replied, turning Blue in another circle. He pushed his questions at Blue, who gave a mental shrug and took off in an easterly direction. "Wait, Blue says you're behind us."

At airspeeds, it took almost a half-hour before Black and the airship appeared on the horizon. Blue hovered, turning idle somersaults in mid-air until Black caught up.

"Red might have the airspeed to leave us behind," Lance said, pleased, "but my guess is we doubled our speed underwater."

"It's Blue's element," Shiro agreed. "Makes sense no one could beat her there. So what did you want to try, other than going swimming?"

"I know Blue's got waterpower, but that seems like it'd only be useful if our own airship catches on fire. So there's got to be more she can do, if Red's taunting her about it."

"Red." Shiro's sigh felt amplified, and Lance blinked at the realization: the echo was Black's amused rumble. "Well, let's see if Blue can force Black down, then."

Black swooped down before them, tail thrashing, roaring over its shoulder. Blue huffed, a bit annoyed at the presumption.

"Then show me what you can do," Lance whispered. _Just don't hit Black square-on. Those two can't take the water like we can._

Given the room to run, Blue was happy to oblige. She opened her mouth, roaring a streak of ice that caught Black's wingtip. The majority of her power flew past Black, eventually arcing downwards into the ocean. Lance whistled, twitched his fingertips, and Blue did it again.

The second time, the ice coated Black's entire left wing. The black lion wavered, speed reducing, then spread its massive wings. The ice shattered in glittering shards.

"Oh, so that's how you want to do it?" Shiro said, teasing, but an undeniable edge in his voice. Black slowed, coming alongside Blue.

Black swung sideways, wings flaring. Blue chirped a warning and Lance yanked his hands back. Blue spiraled into a dive, barely evading Black's claws. A split-second later, Blue screamed. Black had hit them with a blast of pure lightning, just enough to singe Blue's tail.

"Enjoy the shot," Lance yelled. "Only one you're gonna get!" He brought Blue around to face Black head-on, airship forgotten. A stream of ice from Blue, square at Black.

Somehow Black twisted out of the way, a surprising maneuver considering Black's size. "Not bad," Shiro said, and Black sent another energy blast.

Blue evaded, though her tail got caught again. This time, Lance bent his legs and threw himself sideways into the long arching backwards somersault, bringing them up and over Black. Blue threw her head back, sending an ice blast as she rounded Black.

A solid hit to Black, right across the torso. Black plummeted, roaring. Its wings were fully encased.

"Oh, shit!" Lance angled Blue around to dive after Black. "Sorry, Shiro, sorry, we're—"

Black roared, halting its fall to hover in mid-air. It shook itself, and the ice shattered. Black roared again, and Lance pulled Blue back.

"Easy, Blue," Lance said. "We don't need to fish the two of them out of the ocean."

Blue perked up.  _Very big fish._

Lance choked on his laugh. Either the distinction between verbs and nouns were lost on the lion, or Blue was wittier than he'd credited her.

"Black's alright." Shiro laughed. "Apparently _some_ lions are fine sacrificing dignity if it means making others panic."

Lance chuckled, making a note of that. If Blue did enjoy mixing words and visuals as a form of humor, perhaps Black was a prankster. Blue grumbled, a little miffed at being the punchline to Black's private joke. Lance eased up on his grips, and Blue swooped down to fall in at Black's flank.

"Did you want to take another dive?" Shiro asked.

Blue huffed, excited.

Lance was about to answer when Allura's voice came on the line. "Make it quick, if you do. Council meeting in a quarter-hour, and I'd like Shiro there. Lance, you as well, if you're willing."

"We could be down and back, just a quick dive," Lance said, and changed his mind. No, they were part of a team. They couldn't hold everyone up for their own fun. "Shiro? It's your call."

"We'll be in Reiphod soon. I'd like us all to be aligned in what we're doing," Shiro replied. "This isn't the only body of water. You and Blue will get another chance."

"Alright, Blue, you heard the man." Lance turned Blue around, heading to the waiting airship.

 

 

 

Lotor kept his guard up, and somehow the tension was worse at finding himself slipping so easily into childhood habits. For ten years, he'd been schooled in Dalteria, coming home four times a year for the holy days. He'd learned to pay attention to his welcoming, because it'd set the tone for the rest of his stay. So far, neither of his parents had been overly effusive, which was a relief. The higher their pleasure with his competitive awards or academic achievements, the greater his fall soon after.

He'd found his mother in her lab, where she'd accepted his kiss on her cheek with a perfunctory reminder to see to his father. At Lotor's presentation in the imperial reception hall, his father had seemed preoccupied, though he listened closely during Lotor's brief account on the fall of Oriande.

A half-dozen warlords were in attendance, including Gnov and Branko, who'd let the joint attacks on Balmera and Folata. Those regions subdued, governor-generals had been appointed, freeing the warlords to consider new targets. Lotor relayed Prorok's exact words, disinclined to take the responsibility of letting his own interpretation color the warlords' impressions and give them ideas.

"Good." Zarkon dismissed the gathering, crossing the massive room to sweep past Lotor. "With me."

Lotor fell in alongside his father. At twenty-two, his head barely topped his father's shoulder. He towered over his mother by a head, but he'd never quite achieve a full Galra's height. The guards bowed as they approached, pulling the doors open with perfect timing for Zarkon to enter the private reception hall.

About half the size of the formal hall, it was austere rather than ornate, and instead of the obligatory throne, a massive chair waited behind a heavy table covered with stacks of memorials. Zarkon crossed the open space to stand before one of the tall windows that overlooked the palace gardens.

Lotor stood in the center of the room, feet planted on the smooth marble floors, hands at the small of his back, shoulders back. From here he could pivot as needed; Zarkon was wont to pace when thinking, and Lotor knew first-hand the consequences of turning his back on his father.

"You satisfied my warlords' curiosity," Zarkon said, in a low tone that sent warning shivers up Lotor's spine. "Now satisfy mine. Explain how you returned in Prorok's airship, while your own airship was chased south to Oriande."

"When the attack began, the Altean generals chose to flee rather than fight." Lotor watched Zarkon carefully. His father's shoulders were relaxed, dark-clawed hands loose at his sides. "As is Altean custom, my airship was placed under Altean guard, which made it easy for the generals to commandeer my airship for their retreat."

"And the guardians?"

"They also fled—"

"I'm _aware_ of that," Zarkon snapped, without turning around.

Lotor flinched. Wrong answer, then. "The five chosen paladins are undisciplined and reluctant, and only one seemed to have battle experience. None are Altean-born. When I arrived, the ministers were attempting to remove the paladins and force the guardians to re-choose."

Zarkon didn't reply immediately. Lotor held his breath, hoping he'd guessed right on his father's intentions. A single wrong answer was all he'd ever been allowed.

"Were any priests present?" Zarkon turned, the late afternoon light casting shadows across his stern Galran features.

"Not that—" Lotor caught himself. Both priests and ministers wore dark robes, but priests were distinguished by a thick band of embroidery around their sleeve-cuffs, signaling their allegiance to a particular god. "No, none were present," he amended.

"Good." Zarkon stepped up on the dias to sit at his desk. "And the princess?"

"Sheltered," Lotor said, cautiously. "Ruled by her ministers."

Zarkon's expression darkened. "As she's always been. But alive?"

"She was when I saw her last."

"What did you see of the paladins?"

Lotor kept his gaze on his father's hands. One black claw tapped in an irregular pattern on the desk, as Lotor recounted what he'd noted of the thief, the heretic, the traitor, the spy, and the slave.

The news seemed to please his father; Zarkon's tapping slowed. "If you have questions, you may ask."

"Only one, Sire." This was the danger point. Asking nothing would prompt immediate censure; asking the wrong thing would result in worse. The bruises had faded since his last visit, as they always did, but the lessons remained. Lotor chose his words carefully. "Mother is Queen of Altea by right. A simple coup would've—"

"I hear no question."

Lotor stiffened, somehow keeping his expression in the same neutral lines. "Where is the value in destroying Mother's birthright?"

Zarkon slammed his hand flat on his desk. "You dare dispute my command?"

"Never." Lotor cursed his mistake. He'd assumed Oriande's destruction was yet another case of his father's warlords' over-eagerness for destruction. "I only meant… What value does Altea bring to the empire, now that it's been reduced to rubble?"

Zarkon grunted, relenting; the dry humor was rare, but welcome. "As if Altea had any value, as it was. A land of warmongering slave-traders? Your mother would rather crush that under her heel than cultivate such a weed in the empire."

"Daibazaal policy—" Lotor hesitated at the sense of his father's heavy gaze upon him. Halting now would definitely be a mistake. He barged onwards. "—Has always been that the conquered land must pay for its own recovery. With its trade demolished, I can't see where Altea will have the means."

"It won't." Zarkon sounded grimly pleased. "And as long as I live, it never will again."

The implications were staggering. "You're not rebuilding Altea."

"If the Balmeran salt mines could produce enough, and soon enough, I would salt every square stick of Altea, from its riverbeds to its mountain peaks."

"But Mother—"

Zarkon waved a hand. "When you were young, your mother had dreams of claiming back Altea. But your grandmother's murderer had done his work. By the time my spies could sway the ministers to recognize the truth, your Mother had grown tired of waiting."

Lotor hid his disbelief. His father was the impatient one. His mother could out-wait the very steppes themselves.

"Altea is not the objective," Zarkon said, flatly. He glanced at the darkening window. "Have you seen your mother?"

"In passing, Sire."

"You'll dine with us, this evening."

Recognizing the dismissal, Lotor set a fist to his chest and bowed. Three steps back, then he turned and strode from the room. The guards shut the doors behind him. He walked the wide corridor alone, waiting until he was out of sight to halt.

"Ezor, tell me you didn't risk yourself," he said to the empty air.

"I stayed outside," Ezor said, materializing beside him. "He seemed in a good mood."

"Marginally." Lotor turned away from the family wing, heading to the east wing.

It would've been the residence for the imperial consort, but Zarkon was an unusual Autocrat in two specific habits. He kept no concubines, and slept with his sole consort, like commoners. With no other use for the consorts' wing, Honerva had turned the extensive space into her laboratories and offices.

"Perhaps it's true their goal is the guardians," Lotor murmured, under his breath. "They seem to have no care for Altea. Prorok's forces will pillage, and what's left will be burnt."

"Like Oriande." Ezor faded from sight, her light steps almost precisely in time with his. It would take sharp ears to realize the faint echo.

"I'm afraid so." Lotor frowned. "Could you ask Narti if she can send a message? We need to warn them. The longer they seek allies, the less there'll be upon their return."

"Understood. Be careful." With that, Ezor's footsteps halted, heading back towards Lotor's own residence.

At his mother's office, Lotor presented himself, and Honerva waved him towards a seat. Like his father's private halls, the imperial consorts' private quarters were austere, if lighter. Its marble floors and walls were white with fleck of gold and hints of peach, rather than the gray and black shades in the Autocrat's residence.

It was hard to see that austerity behind Honerva's additions. Shelves lined the walls, piled with books, scrolls, and endless labeled boxes. As a child, Honerva had encouraged Lotor to explore and question. She'd delighted in his clumsy attempts to mimic her actions, as if he could perform her research with his toys. His studies in Dalteria changed that, turning him from his interest in scientific exploration, and towards the application, with engineering. His upper-level coursework introduced him to the philosophical aspect of political and economic systems, to his parents' disgust.

He'd learned since to temper his questions. His mother disliked debating a non-scientist as much as his father disliked being questioned by anyone ignorant of the battlefield.

Honerva set aside the reports and looked up. "You've met with your father?"

"Yes, Mother."

She eyed him, looking for the tell-tale signs of his father's passage. Finally she nodded, and the tightness eased around her mouth. "Good. He asked you to dine with us, tonight?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Excellent." Honerva raised a hand and one of her attendants stepped forward, head bowed and waiting. "Who has Janka assigned to my son's staff, during his stay?"

"Tolak and Cedav, ma'am."

"That'll do. Let them know to arrange a fitting for my son in the morning. He'll be joining me for the annual science academy tea."

Lotor couldn't hide his shock. "You're actually attending a tea?"

"The chancellors insisted. And besides, I thought you'd enjoy it."

"Mother." Lotor couldn't stop the grin.

Honerva matched his expression with a similar sly smile, and waved over another assistant. The slender Galran woman settled herself at the end of Honerva's desk, unrolling a keyboard and setting her fingers in place. Lotor squared his shoulders, readying himself.

"Now, tell me what you saw of the guardians." Honerva steepled her fingers, listening. When Lotor finished, she asked about the paladins themselves.

He repeated exactly what he'd told his father; he'd learned young they checked with each other on every detail. A single word of difference made every word a lie, in their joint opinion. He tensed when she uncharacteristically pressed for more. Her gaze was level, her hands relaxed; she didn't wear the hint of a cruel smile that signaled tricking him into a mistake.

"I—" He swallowed, nervous, and worried she could tell. "The Red Paladin is half-Galra, and trained with the Marmora, from his armor. The Black Paladin openly defied Allu—the princess."

"Without consequence?"

"No. General Hira had possession of the regalia, and used it on one of the paladins, as example."

"She's a third cousin," Honerva said. "She must've retrieved those from the castle's keeping as soon as she had word of that girl's action. No sign of any other regalia?"

"Not that I saw used," Lotor replied.

Honerva frowned. "Darov, send word to Prorok. He promised a full inventory of the belongings of the twelve major families. I want a reason for the delay."

The second attendant bowed and departed silently. The first attendant continued to take notes, head bowed.

"The regalia delivered—" Honerva pointed to her desk, and her final attendant brought over a box. Honerva lay out a simple diadem, two bracelets, a belt of five pendants linked by chains, and three rings. The metal looked like tarnished silver, the style brutally plain. "This set is missing the other two rings, a pendant, and two anklets."

Lotor frowned, thinking it over. "The princess wore no rings, and I saw no pendant nor anklets."

"Did she wear a sword?"

"Yes. Slightly worn, but better than a common bodyguard's."

"Did you see the hilt?"

"In passing. Beaten silver, it seemed." Now that he thought of it, Allura's sword was plainer, more substantial, than the one she'd worn for his last few visits. He'd figured it meant she'd completed her swordsmanship studies and graduated to a killing blade. The dull glint of the regalia caught his attention again, and it struck him that none were silver. Every piece was iron. "And the grip was wrapped in black," he added.

"Ah." Honerva looked grim. "So the princess does have at least one piece of the regalia."

"Six, counting the rings—"

"Unlikely." Honerva waved off Lotor's words. "No minister would surrender those without a threat on their lives." She spread the rings out, turning them to make visible their stones: forest green, blood red, night black. "I am particularly curious who retained their connection to the Yellow and Blue guardians."

"Connection?" Lotor blinked. "Hira's rings delivered pain. Do these deliver—"

"Pleasure," Honerva said. "It's a rather crude system. The guardians being free to choose their paladins, there's no guarantee the paladins will be loyal to Altean goals. These regalia are later creations, meant to control the paladins through their connection to the lions."

Lotor felt ill. His parents had always blamed him for his own tears, ordering him to pretend at happiness. At least he'd been free to nurture his anger, bitter as it was in his belly. Knowing his smile was pretense had often been his only form of rebellion. He couldn't fathom a childhood where he'd not had even that much.

Honerva swept the rings into a pile. "I will speak to your father. We need to retrieve that sword, as well."

Her attendant collected the pieces, and set the box on a shelf between two stacks of scrolls. The first attendant returned, accompanied by the two attendants Zarkon's steward had assigned to Lotor.

"You're the legitimate Queen," Lotor said, daring to press further despite his imminent dismissal. "The guardians are supposed to obey you. Aren't these the means?"

"I have no interest in controlling those beasts," Honerva said. "I intend to dissect them."

 

 

 

Pidge stood before Green, finally free of others' demands and alone with the lion. They'd reached Reiphod's coastline. An hour to Algedi, though it'd probably be another hour of waiting for permission to land. Bureaucracy was always slower when the paperwork wasn't done far in advance.

Maybe she should've joined the council meeting, but she had no interest in sitting in a room with three Vakarian magi. The princess was too naive about some things. Nothing overruled a Vakarian's drive to eliminate the competition, especially when the High Council sanctioned it. And in this case, Pidge's or Matt's deaths would mean a significant reward.

Green rumbled and lowered her head for Pidge set her hands on Green's nose. Time to do some work, and figure out Green's affinity. It wasn't air, since that was Pidge's foundational affinity. Nor was it electricity, or the explosion wouldn't have damaged them both. Doubtful it was wood, but Pidge hadn't used that in her designs. She'd wanted precise attacks, not blunt-force trauma.

"Okay, girl, we're gonna go slow and easy, alright?" Pidge took a deep breath. "None of this will hurt, and I can say that 'cause I've been through this myself. Just let me know how you feel." She closed her eyes and concentrated.

Pidge took a piece of her awareness, an innocuous image of splashing in the tub as a child while her attendants tried to wash her hair. She crafted it into a tightly-woven ball, and imagined herself bending down and gently rolling it across their connection to Green.

Green sent waves of detached curiosity. She nosed at the ball, which rolled past her and dissipated. So, not a water affinity, or the ball would've crackled like tiny fireworks, lighting up Green's presence. Pidge took another image, this time of a summer bonfire during the holy days. Again the crafted affinity-ball washed over Green with no reaction other than idle amusement.

Pidge worked her way through the major affinities. There were ten major ones, of which the basic elements were most common: wood, earth, fire, water, air, metal. There were another twenty, less common, but powerful when trained properly. Not a single reaction. She wiped the sweat dripping from her forehead. She'd had no idea it was so exhausting to test affinities, and not a single one had worked yet. Pidge mentally recited each affinity, reviewing the mental images she'd chosen.

"Oh, crap." She wanted to smack herself on the forehead. Cut flowers weren't the same as living plants. "Let's try that one again."

Pidge put her hands on Green, closed her eyes, and thought of the forest around her family's mountain retreat. Cool and dark, the canopy overhead was so dense that nothing grew beneath except chilly shadows.

Green's presence flared brightly, eclipsing everything. Pidge stumbled backwards, startled, hands instinctively over her eyes as if that would shield her from the reaction. She tripped on her heels and went down her ass next to Green's massive claws. Green laughed and nosed at Pidge, tail thwapping against the hangar wall.

"Yeah, yeah, okay, you've got a plant affinity." Pidge shoved at the lion's nose, pretending annoyance. "You could've just told me that. But hey, wood and plants can unify."

Now she just had to think of a good offensive use for wood. It was her tertiary affinity, and one she'd never really cultivated. She didn't share it with anyone else in her family, so there'd been no one to trust to train her. And besides, it was really only good for defense. It shared a lot with water, in that way; both subdued and dulled. At least water had the offensive aspect of ice.

There was no footstep behind her, but Pidge had grown up with her brother and two cousins, and there were two things she'd learned from being the youngest. One, when someone was trying to sneak up on her, and two, when it was someone she knew. She would've alerted instantly had it been an outsider like the enemy magi. Pidge grinned, choosing to ignore Matt. Eventually he'd give up and admit it was him, anyway.

"Wood and green things have the same source," Pidge muttered, thinking it through.

There were nuances, but fundamentally the unification should be easy, once she worked out the details. Wood was supple at first, hardening over time. A shield, a barrier, a wall. Plants were flexible, adaptable, responsive. Wood's weakness was splintering; plant's weakness was its penetrability.

"Okay, just stay relaxed, 'cause this might feel strange," Pidge warned the lion. "I'm gonna try something a little different." She outlined a basic mental image, glad when the lion's rumble indicated approval and interest.

The floor beneath them was wood, hardened over who knows how many years of use and exposure, but it'd be enough. Pidge pressed the palm of one hand to the floor, and the other on Green's nearest paw. She reached into the wood, tracing the grain, pulling out its essence and using that as a pattern to shape what she wanted.

Green's awareness settled around Pidge like a tangible thing, a warm comforter on a cold day, the embrace of a cool wind, the flutter of ivy against her palm. Green's presence merged with Pidge's, and tendrils of green appeared in Pidge's mental construct. Vines wove between the wood, sprouting and twisting to lock each piece together.

Sweat dripped from Pidge's chin to her hand, and splattered on the floor. She'd never built anything so huge, but something sized for her would never work for Green. Piece by piece she added to the construct in her head, bolstered by Green's attention. When it was complete, Pidge took a long shuddering breath.

"Stand back," she warned Matt, eyes still closed. "This is either gonna be awesome, or we're about to take out half the hangar."

She released the construct with a sharp push, and jerked her hands free, scooting back to watch her work become real. Wood pushed upwards from Green's exoskeleton, spreading outwards along the huge planks Pidge had designed. Vines spread across the surface, thickening into sinewy cross-hatching that bound the wood in a further self-healing layer.

Green twisted, as if looking over her shoulder at her back, and it gave Pidge a view of the forward edge of the shield. As the pattern solidified, the construct sped up, until the last vine snapped into life, curled over the edge, locked into place, and fell still.

Pidge grinned. "Pretty cool, hunh. Now the question is whether it'll hold up to that Daibazaal quintessence."

It should; that was the point of the vines. Cut off the pieces that would turn sickly from the poison and quickly grow replacements. Why not use that offensively, though? If she could unify air and wood, then maybe she could craft a way to send those vines at something else.

From behind her, Matt muffled his laugh, at the same time as Green huffed, almost laying on her side to let Pidge see the drawback. The shield now covered the length of Green's back, including the pocket.

"So much for carrying passengers." Pidge sighed and leaned back on her hands. "You okay with people going through your cabin, Green?"

Green chuffed, a mild no, and sent images of modifying the shield.

"Guess you're out of luck," Pidge said, over her shoulder. "Let me catch my breath before we—"

"You don't have to talk out loud, y'know." Lance stood on the ladder, elbows resting on the platform. "Cool shield, by the way."

Pidge twisted around, startled. She hadn't realized Lance was among those who'd no longer set off her proximity alarms. "Thanks, but I was—" She turned further, baffled to see the platform empty but for her and Green. "Talking to Matt," she finished, puzzled.

"Matt's been helping with dinner," Lance said. "He sent me to see if you're gonna join us."

"And he thinks I should help cook?" Pidge snorted. If Lance hadn't alerted her, then maybe it'd been one of the other Paladins. "What genius let Matt cook?"

"No one did. He washed pots. Radala's taken over the position as airship cook. Hunk and Keith are her lieutenants now. You missed the mushroom-chopping contest, by the way."

"Sounds thrilling. What did you do, stand in the corner and make comments?"

"I was useful!" Lance looked almost hurt, except his eyes crinkled in a subtle amusement. "I got to stir things. I stirred all the pots."

"Yeah, I bet you did." Maybe it'd been the Black Paladin. He seemed like the kind to check on people, and leave once he knew they were alright. "Have you seen Shiro?"

"Last I saw he was trapped behind the piles of all the potatoes and carrots he'd peeled." Lance waved a hand. "Anyway, dinner's ready. Come on down, unless you like starving."

"Yeah. I'll be right there." Pidge scanned the empty platform, puzzled.

Maybe it'd been one of the two Marmora. They were reputed to stealth so skillful it could be mistaken for magic. She'd ask at dinner, and figure out how to fix the culprit once she knew who to target.

Pidge took hold of Green's paw and hauled herself upright. The sharp edge of the bladed claws caught her palm, slicing it open. Pidge yelped, too startled to react, at first. Blood poured from the wound, dripped through her fingers and splashed on Green's paw.

The backlash sent Pidge flying. She landed halfway to the hangar wall, dazed and bloody. She crushed the hem of her tunic against her palm to staunch the bleeding. Green's eyes shone like beacons in the flare of the affinity, and Pidge had to set her jaw against the combination of blinding light and stinging pain. It was just not her day.

Crackling filled the hangar, echoing against the walls. The wood-and-vine shield on Green's back changed, the wood fossilizing into bleached bone like Green's exoskeleton. The vines writhed, bleaching out as well, fibrous ropes that slithered across the bone like dried sinew. Pidge stared, aghast. Green had used the temporary boost of her true affinity to make Pidge's adaptations permanent.

Wind, lightning, and wood. Unifying the three meant Pidge could move unnoticed as she sought the minute cracks in the world, to choose the moment, and strike with speed and precision. She shaped the world by using the narrow spaces between to her advantage.

Matt's affinities, like their parents, were wind, water, and lightning. He harnessed the currents to find a path around, rather than through. His strikes ranged from subtle to torrential, shaping the world through a combination of erosion and evasion.

Green's true affinity wasn't plants; it was blood. And the unification of blood and plants was one of the rarest, most fundamental, and most dangerous of all affinities: the ability to shape life itself.

Pidge stared up at Green, torn between awe and terror. "Who _are_ you?"


	15. Chapter 15

Keith checked both ways down the corridor, and ran on light feet to the hangar doors. Red sat up at Keith's entrance, eyes brightening.

"Hey, kitty," Keith said, reaching up as Red bent down.

Keith hauled himself up, climbed up the bridge of Red's nose, and sat cross-legged between the big cat's ears. Across the way, Pidge napped on Green's foreleg, while Green seemed to be busy investigating the massive shield covering her back. She nosed at its edge, nudging it. Green caught Red and Keith looking and yawned at them.

"Where did that come from?" Keith asked Red, who filled him in with quick images of Pidge's work. Red's awe echoed Keith's. "You want a shield like that, too?"

Red's grumble was a negative, but instead of images, words. _Moving target, harder to hit._

Keith chuckled. "My first teacher always said the same, if I didn't run fast enough."

On the lower level, Blue lay awake, tail swishing slowly. Lance stretched across her back, arms hooked behind his head. Black was also awake, and watching something in Yellow's bay with an unusual intensity. Keith slid down from Red and went to the edge of the platform to see.

Hunk stepped out, looking up at Black, then turning around to see Keith. "Hey," he said. "I figured out how the army-kites are protected. I've done Yellow. Want me to do Red, now?"

Keith sent the question at Red, who promptly shunted attention towards Yellow. Questions ran back and forth, in that nonverbal stream that felt like distance voices.

Below, Hunk giggled. "I love it when they do that. Makes me feel five again." He headed for the ladder, still talking. "If it helps, Yellow described the sensation as a pleasant warmth, like basking in the sun."

Red's eyes were open wide, a body-language Keith was figuring out meant excitement and a bit of trepidation. Red craved attention, but it made him nervous, like he wasn't sure what to do once he had it. Keith stood by Red's front paw, while Hunk took up position at Red's chest.

Red growled, and Hunk withdrew his hands, giving Keith a questioning look.

"He doesn't like that he can't see what you're doing." Keith patted Red's lowered nose. "Easy, Yellow was fine, and now it's your turn."

From Red's grumble, that didn't seem to be the most convincing argument.

"Stop stalling," Hunk said. "I don't want any of us going through that sickness again. Do you?"

Red's eyes narrowed, and he bent his head to give Keith a careful look. A long sigh echoed in Keith's mind, and Red closed his eyes. Hunk caught enough to understand, and set his hands on Red's exoskeleton, focusing.

Nothing changed for a few moments, until the glow had spread enough to light the edges of Red's armor. Subtle, a soft gold, tracing along the edges and through the fissures in the bone, and sinking within. Red chirped. The glow spread outwards, across Red's chest and up around his neck, and Red chirped a few more times.

Keith smothered his laugh with a hand, not wanting to offend the lion. Red didn't notice, continuing to chirp at odd intervals. Red had no images, but the sensations rushed at Keith. Hunk continued his work until the gold streaks had reached as far as Red's torso.

"What is wrong with him?" Hunk asked, halting the flow. "Is he okay?"

Red chirped several more times, eyes bright.

"He's ticklish," Keith said.

"He's _what_ now?" Hunk gave Keith a baffled look, then shook his head. "Okay, then."

Red continued to laugh-chirp as Hunk picked back up his work, and a few times Hunk giggled as well. The gold light reached down to the tip of Red's tail and faded. Hunk removed his hands. He looked tired, but pleased, and patted Red's chest.

"You're all set," Hunk told Red.

Red chuffed at him.

"He wants you to do Blue next," Keith said, then frowned, catching Red's intent. "No warning?"

"What is it with you two," Hunk asked Red. "Seriously, you two are as bad as me and my—" He stopped, brows going up, and he laughed. "Oh, I see."

"What?" Keith asked. "What do you see?"

Hunk thumbed in Blue's direction, grin wide. "I bet you coins to copazaa they keep score during battle, but woe to anyone who threatens the other. Y'know, usual sibling stuff."

Red grumbled, pretending affront. Hunk laughed and headed down to catch Shiro, who'd just entered the hangar. Keith was left staring up at Red, thoughtful.

Since joining the Marmora, Keith had trained with others his age, but his sleeping mat had been beside Kolivan's from the start. Keith had never dared ask permission to move it. Kolivan had extended a place for Keith, and Keith couldn't betray that. He wasn't sure if he had anything that corresponded to siblings. He wasn't sure if bonding with Red meant Blue was now a kind of extended sibling, too. Or if Lance was one, by extension. Keith scowled. He'd rather have a sibling like Hunk, someone he could rely on. Besides, in their first battle, he was quite sure he and Red had gotten and given far more hits than Lance and Blue. 

Red chirped, agreeing.

 

 

 

Lotor remained of two minds about his parents' plans, but part of growing up had meant acceptined he'd always desperately crave their approval. Their affection he'd never have; their respect would do. A conversation like this, however fraught, was as close as he might ever come.

"Aitanka are complex machines," Lotor said.

"Machines imbued with the power of gods." Honerva's smile was barely a flicker; she'd startled Lotor to silence with her uncharacteristic words, and found it amusing. "Long ago, five tribes each contributed a willing sacrifice. A god trapped in an earthly prison for the duration of Altea's need."

"The Altean general said…" Lotor tried to remember the phrasing. "She called the paladins a conduit for the creatures to access living energy. Like a food source."

"I told you the system was crude. The lions are literal cages. From within them, the gods cannot receive the energy they'd derive from their followers' worship, or so the theory goes."

It seemed too much like philosophy to be coming from his mother. Lotor didn't trust it; there had to be a reason behind her interest, some tangible gain.

"Davok, bring the jarta." Honerva leaned back.

The attendant brought a large box, about the size used when Zarkon's warlords delivered a vanquished enemy's head. Honerva stood to reach into the box, lifting out a black stone as big as one of those heads. The light pouring in through the windows caught the stone, a purple light glittering in its depths.

"Most jarta are a quarter this size, or smaller," Honerva said. "This is a banded jarta, which means it's a combination of four or more jarta, into one." She held it out.

Lotor stood to take it, startled by how insubstantial it felt. "It's even lighter than leviton rocks."

"It's the same process. Internally, it's a fretwork of flexible ligand binding pockets, but instead of trapping heliux, it's trapped quintessence."

"I thought the point of jarta was they came from living creatures. But if they're just quintessence—"

"They're more than that. The structure compresses the quintessence, modifying it at the molecular level. An equal amount of raw quintessence would power a single tanka about a day. If you crushed that banded jarta, it would power twenty tanka, for about four days each."

"Why bother with the lions? Replicating jarta seems like a greater value."

"Oh, I did that long ago." Honerva looked bored. "A combination of chemical processes and applied pressure, and we can force quintessence into a synthetic jarta. My engineers have used those to power the noble tanka."

"Those still require recharging after battle, though." Lotor knew of a dozen noble tanka created for his father's elite warriors. Named machines, each had three times the armament of a foot soldier's tanka.

"Noble tanka are overpowered. They can drain a synthetic jarta in a single day." Honerva's lips firmed, a sign of her disapproval. "My current goal is to determine how the guardians restore their jarta."

"You think it's related to the paladin-guardian bond?" Lotor set the jarta back in the box. Perhaps it was no surprise she disagreed with his choice of studies, when her area of expertise came so easily to him. "The guardians lay dormant for over sixty years. If that were due to the lack of a jarta, how could they respond to a call?"

"They _are_ imbued with the essence of gods," Honerva said, though her flat tone could've been irritation or amusement. "According to my mother, the guardians awaken only minimally until presented with a specific jarta to establish the bond."

So that was the reason for her willingness to appear friendly, even talkative. He'd not only seen the guardians, he'd had access to eye-witnesses of the guardians' first appearances. It wasn't the same as being greeted in his own right, but he'd learned to be satisfied with what he could get.

"I spoke with six eyewitnesses, including the princess. The lions were not only active and aware, the jarta were not even required to be from a particular hand, in the first presentation."

Honerva went perfectly still, staring at him, as though she could divine whether he lied. "You interviewed witnesses?"

Lotor smiled. "I had the time, and I was curious."

It meant she kept him until very near the dinner hour, picking over every detail he could remember. It only marginally mollified her to hear that Allura had been just as surprised; Allura's mother had apparently worked with the same set of family stories. What had Honerva most intrigued were certain contradictions.

While the guardians did rest within their respective elements, they did so in an abstract or unformed state. The jarta were a power source, but the lions did not take and return a specific jarta; any would do. And the detail that had Lotor still puzzled, and Honerva fascinated: contrary to tradition, it seemed blood was not even required.

"You're certain," Honerva asked, for what felt like the third time.

"The household slaves were adamant," Lotor repeated. "The Blue Paladin followed tradition and bled on the guardian's presented jarta. Yellow did not." He stopped, suspicious. "What else do you know? You've had news."

"Of course." Honerva shuffled through the papers stacked on her desk. "One of my engineers is now in Commander Trugg's forces, and was witness to a clash with the guardians in south Vakar." She handed over a paper, neatly lettered in the military script. "That report arrived while you met with your father."

Lotor scanned the sheet, then re-read, slower, looking for the exact line that had clicked in his head. "One lizard-tanka was crushed, and exploded under the pressure. Systems were scorched and melted. The pilot survived the wounds, but with significant burns."

"That's common damage from the Black Lion."

"Perhaps not." Lotor couldn't recall if he'd mentioned the detail already. If he hadn't and pretended otherwise, his mother would discover his lapse upon rereading her assistant's notes. Perhaps this time would be forgiven, considering the information he relayed. "The Green Paladin is Vakarian."

"I'm aware."

Lotor described the scene where the Altean General had punished one of the chosen paladins. "I thought the girl had tried to physically block the punishment. If that was the Green Paladin, she may have used Vakarian magic."

"And there was a backlash." Honerva considered that. "Some of the elements in Vakarian magic are nearly impossible to differentiate, as an outside observer."

"Like lightning? I'd always heard the Black Lion spits lightning from its mouth, not its feet. Why would it crush the tanka?"

Honerva's eyes widened slightly. An attendant appeared at the door, bowing silently.

"We'll discuss this while we dine." Honerva stood. "Your father will be interested to hear of this development, and it may be useful knowledge for his warlords."

 

 

 

Keith looked up when his name was called.

Thace stood by the doors to the corridor. "We're approaching Algedi," he said. "We need to—"

Ulaz strode through the doors. "Have you told him?"

Thace sighed. "I was about to."

Keith patted Red on the nose, joining his teachers in the corner of the platform. Thace tapped two fingers together, and a quintessence bubble floated upwards. It hung in the air, revolving with an iridescent shine. Any non-Marmora presence in earshot would cause it to burst.

"When we land in Algedi, we'll be sending word back to headquarters," Thace said. "One of us will need to return with a fuller explanation of events."

"What?" Keith looked back and forth between the two of them. "But I thought—"

"We understand, but we have duties we're neglecting." Ulaz' ears were flat against his head.

"We've decided I'll stay, as Allura's advisor," Thace said. "I have contacts in the southern stretches, too."

Keith shoved down the panic bubbling in his gut. "But Ulaz—"

"The airship can hire another medic." Thace exchanged a look with Ulaz. "We want you to speak with Allura, and formally remove yourself as a paladin."

Keith reached for Red's presence, seeking reassurance. Red was close, and attentive, but closed-off. Keith mentally recoiled from the seeming rejection, hurt.  

"Keith." Thace set a hand on Keith's shoulder. "This isn't our fight. Daibazaal is on the move, and Thaldycon is going to need us. What intelligence we can gather here may be useful, but Altea is in no position to provide us aid."

"The question is whether we'd take it," Ulaz muttered.

"But Red," Keith said. "I can't just leave—"

"This is not our fight," Thace said. "You are have duties as Mamora, and those are not here."

"It _is_ here!" Keith burst out. "That insignia—that half-moon on the red—it was him! Prorok—" With Ulaz's scowl deepening, Keith focused on Thace. "Once the airship's fueled and we have Reiphod as allies, we'll be heading back. And this time—"

"Keith." Thace said, not unkindly. "I understand how you feel, but Prorok is dangerous. He's an elite warlord. The Marmora will strike, but not now, and not like this."

"But—" Keith kept his voice down, but he couldn't stop shaking. "My father—my mother—"

"I know. We both do." Thace set his hands on Keith's shoulders, forcing him still. "We'll meet Prorok in battle, I'm sure of it. But we will not stand by and watch you be thrown away as someone's pawn."

"I'm _not_ a pawn," Keith said, trying and failing to hold onto his anger.

"You are to these people," Ulaz replied, sharply. "We will not have you treated as expendable."

Keith jerked himself free, frustrated. The years piled up on him: always too young, too small, too weak to do anything. To find his mother, avenge his father, restore his family's name. Red's silence in his head was the final betrayal. He looked over his shoulder at Red, who lay with his eyes closed, seemingly unaware. Keith's shoulders fell.

"Fine," he whispered. "I'll go with Ulaz."

"Once we formally end the bond." Thace let the bubble disperse. "Then you'll leave."

Keith nodded, unable to look at either of them.

A high-pitched whine filled the hangar, and the airship lurched gently in one direction, then another. Hunk yelled up from the lower level that the anchors were down, relaying news from the speaking-tube to the bridge. Thace nodded to Ulaz, and headed back into the corridor, probably heading up to the bridge. Ulaz gave Keith a final pointed look, and followed Thace.

The whining sound faded, replaced by grinding gears. The floor jolted beneath Keith, as the airship lowered itself to the ground.

"Back on solid ground," Hunk reported.

Up on the ribs running along the hangar's length, Lance shoved open the jalousie vents. A boom echoed through the hangar, shaking the airship. Lance wheeled his arms for balance, and jumped down from his perch. 

"Shiro," Lance yelled. "Looks like we've got a greeting committee. And they're not friendly."

"We're being fired on?" Hunk asked.

"Sounds like it." Shiro rounded Black's paw, heading for Black's chest.

Another blast shook the airship, and it jerked to the side. Keith almost lost hold on Red's exoskeleton. An anchor had given way. Keith hauled himself inside, turning in place as the hatch slid shut and Red's banding locked around him. Red purred, a welcoming, eager sound.

 _Alright, kitty._ Keith settled into Red's embrace. _Make this last time count._

"Hunk!" Shiro's voice was doubled, amplified within the hangar, and coming over the lion's connection. "Get the door? Keith, Pidge, with me. Lance, Hunk, you're airship defense."

"Got it," Hunk yelled.

"Let's do this," Lance said, already within Blue, who roared her agreement.

"Right behind you," Pidge said.

"Keith?' Shiro asked, oddly tentative. "You ready?"

"Yes, sir," Keith said, guiding Red around.

Black rose, blocking the dying daylight as it stood in the opening. A third blast shook the airship, and Red leapt down to the lower level. Black launched itself forward, flying upwards vertically.

"Be careful," Hunk said. "Black and Blue aren't protected, yet!"

Red and Green streaked out the doors, dodging shots as they circled the waiting ring of Daibazaal tanka. Keith got a glimpse of the landing area: wide-open, beaten dirt, with massive stones every eighty sticks for anchors. Their own airship had four anchors remaining, while two whipped through the air, broken by the Daibazaal tanka.

A ring of tanka surrounded their airship, each bearing a shield and sword. About a dozen had split off, coming forward in a loose clump. Black landed in the middle with a roar, tail thrashing hard enough to knock a tanka off its feet.

"Aim for the ones with insignias," Keith said. "If we can take them down, the rest are—" A shot hit Red from above. "Airships overhead!"

"You deal with the tanka," Lance said. "We'll deal with the airships."

Blue sat back on her haunches, mouth opening, and hit the airship with a streak of ice, coating the stern end. Yellow roared, then choked out cannonball after cannonball that exploded on impact. Red growled. Keith yanked his attention back to the fight. Red circled, shooting flames at the tanka surrounding them.

One tanka moved in, holding up a shield against Red's flames. It swung a sword and Red crouched low. Keith tightened his grip and shoved himself upwards, angling to the side. Red leapt, jaws catching at the tanka's head. Their sideways momentum twisted the tanka as Red's claws dug into the tanka's chest. Its head came off with a screech of metal, sparks flying everywhere.

"Good one, Keith," Shiro said. "Pidge, behind you!" Black whipped around, a bolt of lightning striking the tanka raising its weapon at Pidge.

Keith yanked his hands upwards, and Red rose on his hind legs, transforming around Keith into a biped. Red grumbled, not liking how it left the lion blind to what lay behind him. Keith shifted his feet, moving Red through a spin, bending and coming upright within a tanka's guard. Red's claws elongated, dew-claws shifting downwards to act as an opposable digit.

"We can use that, Red," Keith yelled. He reached with his left hand, and twisted sharply.

Red tore the sword from the tanka's grip. Keith swung his arm, slashing through one tanka's torso armor. Another tanka hit him from behind, sending Red stumbling forward. Keith shifted his weight, pivoted, and swung the sword low. Red roared, pleased. The binds around Keith's body eased, Red relinquishing more control to Keith. They swung, ducked under an attack, and slid past a noble tanka, cracking its knee-joint. it kept its feet, sparks crackling along its exposed mechanics. Keith swung again, harder. 

Pidge had withdrawn to protect Blue, Green throwing the shield around like a discus. The shield landed back on Green, and Green rose up, twisting sideways. The warship's quintessence fire slammed into the shield and rebounded, nicking the Daibazaal warship. Pidge whooped and Lance cheered.

Keith swore as the noble tanka dodged, a simple tanka moving in Red's way. Keith's next swing caught the sword in the tanka's leg-armor. Keith tilted back, and Red's momentum sent them down, sliding forward across the beaten dirt into the circle around Black. Red growled, unhappy. Keith sent reassurance, threw himself sideways as he pulled Red around. They ended up with their back against Black's flank.

"Stand up," Keith told Shiro. "We'll fight back-to-back."

"Got it," Shiro said, panting. "Come on, Black—"

Black roared, lightning spraying across the nearest tanka. Almost reluctantly, Black rose, as much taller than Red as Shiro was to Keith. Black's claws lengthened, massive knives that cut through the oncoming tanka. With Shiro behind him—and Red relaying Black's movements—Keith moved with a certainty he'd only had when fighting alongside another Mamora-trained warrior. 

Keith tore another sword from the hands of a falling tanka, spun, and threw it, point-first through the decorated chest-armor of a larger tanka. The noble tanka halted, but didn't fall. Keith swore, frustrated.

"The ones with the fancy armor," Keith shouted. "What the hell takes them down?" 

"Noble tanka," Shiro replied. "Just keep hitting them. Only thing that works."

To Keith's dismay, the noble tanka pulled the sword from its chest. It flipped the blade with a quick move and struck, cutting Red's flank. The blow translated through the bindings, snapping tight around Keith's thigh. He cried out, stunned by the sharp pain.

Red growled, infuriated, and launched them at the crested tanka. The smaller tanka flowed around and behind Red, cutting the lion off from Black. Within heartbeats, Red was pushed farther from Black. From a distance, Pidge shrieked as a second warship blasted the airship grounds. Dirt exploded upwards in Keith's vision, and Keith immediately ducked, shielding his head. Red growled, yanking Keith's hands down.

"There's too many," Shiro gasped. "I can't hold them all off—"

A dozen tanka hemmed the Black lion in. Black launched itself upwards, only to be torn back down by the grasping tanka catching Black's legs and tail. Black roared, an agonized sound, echoing Shiro's cry across the connection. For a terrible moment, memories flooded Keith. Warriors in Galran armor surrounding a man, tearing him away. And then apart. 

"No!" Keith screamed. " _Shiro!_ "

Three more tanka grabbed at Red, hauling the lion backwards. Red roared, taking over, struggling against the tanka. A sword blow caught Red across the shoulders, cutting into the exoskeleton. Keith screamed again, one arm going numb. Pain lanced through his body.

The only sound from Shiro was desperate panting. The circle of tanka crowded close, hiding all but Black's wings.

" _Shiro!_ " Keith kicked, reaching. Red lunged forward, catching a sword by the blade as they tore free. Another cut across Keith's hand. He shoved past the pain, focused on a single goal.

Lightning danced along the tanka, crackling on their armor before fading. Red sent images at Keith, relaying Black's view. Keith flipped the blade in his grasp, caught the hilt, slid under a tanka's swing, and dove into the narrow gap between two other tanka.

Red caught Keith's intent and gave Keith control. Keith brought them upright, and the momentum slammed them up against Black's flank. Keith swung, and the blade forced the tanka backwards, out of Red's reach. Red growled, shooting flames point-blank at the nearest tanka. It was enough to scorch the tanka's armor, but it didn't catch fire.

Behind them, Black rose back up, wrestling a weapon from one of the tanka, despite the blows raining down. Keith fought off as many as he could. Red moved with him, fluid jabs in one direction, then the other. Keith had to hold back from following through, knowing it'd expose their blind side to an attack. He pivoted in place, swinging the blade out. A tanka's hand went flying and the tanka fell back, mechanics grinding and sparking. Two more tanka took its place. 

"They keep piling up," Shiro growled, as Black swung, forcing some of the tanka back. "Black's lightning just bounces off them."

"We can help with that," Lance called. "Cover me, Pidge?"

"You got it," Pidge said.

"Alright, Blue, let's make it rain!"

A sprinkle at first, then a torrent, as Blue blasted water at the tanka enclosing Red and Black. Keith instinctively squinted against the water pelting him along with the tanka, and Red rumbled, angrily. Before Keith could react, Red let out a bolt of flame at the nearest tanka. The fire hit the wet armor. The two tanka were enveloped in steam, but kept pressing forward.

"Tell Red to stop undoing my work," Lance snapped. "Another round, Blue! Okay— _now_ , Shiro!"

Black dropped to all fours, muscles coiling, and sprang upwards. It twisted in mid-air, head down, and fired lightning at the gathered tanka. With the machines clumped so close together, water seeping into every joint, the lightning skipped from one to the next. Armor cracked, machinery exploded. The circle of tanka broke momentarily as half stumbled backwards, struck hard.

Red flashed an image at Keith, who relaxed, letting Red take over. Crouch and leap, and Red was out of the circle, tail slashing out to knock down the tanka trying to avoid Black's attack. Black landed beside Red, and immediately the enemy ranks shifted, like pawns moving by some malevolent hand. They were surrounded, again. 

 

 

 

Allura couldn't figure out how her mind could run on two tracks so seamlessly. One part of her noted the shifting arrangements of the Daibazaal tanka, while a quieter part counted how many shots the airship had taken. Eight misses, two hits. So far, Green had deflected most of the shots, while Blue and Yellow returned significant fire.

"They work well together," Hira said, at Allura's left.

"They're constantly checking with each other," Matt said, behind them. "Princess?"

"Yes, please," Allura said, without turning around.

Sound filtered into her ears, courtesy Matt's skills. Red and Black were almost silent; Yellow and Blue spoke in clipped shouts, with Green yelling warnings each time she changed position for better defense.

Thace stood at Allura's right, arms crossed, gaze distant enough that Allura wondered if he even saw the battlefield. The captain shouted to the pilot, and the airship jolted. Between the airship's tethered movements and Green's defense, so far they remained intact.

"We'll need to arrange for a warship with Reiphod," Hira said. "That Black Paladin removed three guardians from the field, entirely for defense."

"It's defense we require, General," the captain shouted, from across the bridge. "We didn't exactly load up with armaments when this girl was commissioned!"

Allura nodded, more concerned with how she'd explain to Lotor that she'd wrecked his airship. His mother wasn't the most forgiving at the best of times. Allura did her best not to think of the fact that the forces currently surrounding them were acting on the command of Lotor's father. She refused to lose one of the few friends she had, no matter who his parents were.

"Ranveig," Thace said, pointing to a noble tanka facing down the Red guardian. Its insignia was a raised fist. "The pilot is either Gnov or Krak."

"It could be any of six," Hira said.

"That pilot is left-handed," Thace replied, unbothered. "Only Gnov and Krak are left-handed."

"General," Martan said, prompting Allura to turn. "We have a response from the Reiphod Prime."

Martan had been given command of the Vakarians; two continued to transmit Hira's messages from the captain's meeting room. The third was relaying messages to and from Reiphod's central command. Allura tapped her ear, and Matt caught the gesture, shutting away the chatter from the three guardians playing defense.

"They're mobilizing," Martan relayed. He looked almost shaky. "Two groundships, heavy cannon. They're—Princess, they're going to blow the entire field."

"They're what?" Hira rounded on him, leaving the shielded windows and striding across the room to the Vakarian. "Put me through to the Reiphod Prime. Now."

"Do you find it curious?" Thace murmured, too low for anyone but Allura to hear.

She gave him a wry smile. "You mean that Reiphod is helpless to prevent Daibazaal's actions, yet once we're engaged, it can finally act? If they're trying to hide two moons with one hand, they're not being subtle about it."

"Who's to contradict their history, if they're the only ones speaking?"

Allura frowned, decision locking into place. "Captain," she shouted. "Cut the anchors if you must, but get us out of the range of any fire, friend or foe. Do whatever you have to, but get us out of here. Now!"

"Aye, Princess!" The captain caught hold of the speaking-tube, shouting orders to the ship.

"Matt!" Allura pointed to her ear, pleased when sound filtered back in.

She had to cup her ears to hear over the crew's shouts and Hira's stern words towards the Reiphod Prime, or whatever unlucky soul was the Prime's representative.

"Yellow, Blue," Allura shouted, repeating herself several times. "Stop! Listen to me!"

"Cut the chatter," Shiro barked, riding over everyone. "Princess."

The line was abruptly silent, enough to startle Allura. Thace raised his brows, and she shook her head. She'd think about it, and ask him later.

"Yellow, Blue, Green," Allura said. "We're cutting the anchors and pulling away. Green, stay on defense to cover us. Yellow, I need you to clear a path—"

"Clear a path where?" Lance asked. "There's just a big clump of them."

"Yes, I see that," Allura snapped. "On my command, Lance. I want you to pick an avenue for Black and Red to get out of there."

"Do what?" Lance asked, in a strangled voice.

"Ice solid any tanka in the direct path. Keep it concentrated, and move fast. We don't want to give them a chance to react. Hunk, once they're frozen, you take those tanka out—"

"By myself?" Hunk asked.

"I get it," Lance said, excited. "Just run 'em over, they'll break apart like icicles!"

"Wait!" Pidge yelled. "Why are we retreating? We can take these—"

"No, we can't." Allura kept her voice firm, somehow. "Reiphod's about to open fire, and they don't care who they hit. Red and Black, get ready. Green, with me. Blue and Yellow, move, _now!_ "

 

 

 

Keith caught most of the plan, relaying the visuals to Red as Keith opened his left hand, releasing the sword. Red dropped to all fours, dodging another tanka's strike, but the tanka were moving in, focused on catching Red.

Ice blasted the tanka from one direction, pelting Red with ice pellets and coating the mud with a sheet of ice. Red's claws lost purchase in the mud, now freezing slick beneath him. 

" _Move!_ " Lance screamed.

The ground exploded beneath Red's claws, sending the lion flying head-over-heels. Keith choked, dizzied as the world tumbled in his view. A heartbeat later Red slammed into something. Not the ground, but Black.

"I've got you," Shiro said. "Hold on."

Another explosion, and Black lifted Red upwards. Black turned, sending lightning across the tanka, while Blue pelted the field with another long stream of ice. Keith hung in Red's bindings, carefully working one arm free to clutch at his hurt shoulder. He expected blood, but there was no slickness on the straps around his shoulders and arms.

"You okay, Keith?" Shiro asked.

"Red's hurt," Keith said.

The ground tilted in his view as Black swept around, carrying Red across the field, away from the few remaining tanka. Somewhere distant, Hunk called out. They'd damaged one noble tanka, but a third warship had dropped down to rescue the tanka. Its covering fire was brutal. Green had gotten separated from the airship, and was left stranded.

"Someone," Pidge said. "Need some backup, here!"

"Point me at that warship," Keith told Shiro.

Black brought them around. Red growled, ready, tail thrashing. One-handed, Keith threw everything he had into the motion. Red opened its mouth, shooting flames across the distance. The streak of crimson scarred the twilight sky.

"Move, move," Lance yelled to Green.

The flames engulfed the warship. Its banner caught fire, tearing away from the ship. Black smoke billowed, hiding the warship, and then it burst from the smoke. Water sprayed along its length, dousing the flames. Red fired again, as Allura yelled for them to retreat. Sweat dripped into Keith's eyes, and the streak of flames missed the warship.

Another explosion rocked the field, then a fourth, a fifth. Dirt and ice flew into the air, black smoke filling the space between. Black's wings spread, lifting Black and a snarling Red away from the battlefield.

Keith went limp within Red, unable to catch his breath. He couldn't let go of his shoulder, the pain too real despite his fingers finding no wound. All he could do was hold on.

 

 

 

Hunk took up a position behind Black and the injured Red. Blue fell in alongside, swerving and circling with Yellow as the two guardians protected the retreating airship and guardians.

"Change of plans," Allura announced over the connection. "We're heading directly for the palace of the Reiphod Prime. Follow the airship. Shoot down any who follow."

They were leaving the battlefield, such as it was. Night was already come, thanks to black smoke rising from the field. The entire field was littered with torn and shattered tanka. Two warships down. How many lives had been lost, for no reason at all?

 _I don't belong here_ , Hunk told Yellow. _I can't say I acted justly when I struck from behind._

 _Weep later_ , Yellow responded, with a series of images: a tattered length of cloth, a bowl of water, a pile of river rocks. _Fight now._

"Easy for you to say," Hunk muttered. Or perhaps not easy, given the low growl in Yellow's rare words.

Cannonfire slammed into Yellow, and the lion roared, returning the fire with an energy blast. Hunk hadn't had time to react. Below lay the rolling coastal city of Algedi, pinpricks of light wending their way from the shore up to the low hills. Yellow opened its mouth for another volley, and Hunk tightened his fingers around the grip, forcing Yellow's jaws shut.

 _Stop_ , Hunk ordered. _Your overshot is going to hurt innocent people._

 _Attacked_. Yellow's tail lashed. _Defend._

"No, cut it out," Hunk said. "We're big enough, we can take the hit. Better us than someone just sitting down to supper—"

"Hunk?" Lance asked, softly. "You and Yellow not getting along?"

"We'd get along fine if he'd just listen to me," Hunk snarled. "I'm drawing the line here. We don't involve innocent people."

"Reiphod was willing to take us out along with Daibazaal," Lance said. "Can you blame Yellow for seeing all of Reiphod as the enemy?"

"Yes, I can, damn it. If we hurt civilians, we're no better than Daibazaal. Or Reiphod."

Yellow rumbled, uneasy, but reluctantly turned as Hunk directed, following the airship. Ahead lay a glittering string of lights, a boulevard winding back and forth up to the lit palace of the Reiphod Prime. Hunk let the subject go, sending Yellow reassurances. The pursuing airship had fallen back, and that would have to do.

Hunk kept his connection open to Yellow, and let Yellow the freedom to fly as the lion chose, now that the worst was behind them. Literally, even. Hunk sighed. For almost two years he'd been fighting a necessary war, in defense of his home and his people. Now he fought on someone else's behalf, and it felt like semantics to claim Altea as his home while his family remained elsewhere.

 _I don't know if the goddess would be on my side, in this war,_ Hunk told Yellow.

Yellow rumbled, a bass vibration that enclosed Hunk, easing his aches and pains from where Yellow had been hit by enemy fire. More images, some blurry, some so dulled by time all but a single detail remained bright against the dark forgetfulness.

Despite that, the meaning was clear, the teacher's answer to the student's complaint Hunk had voiced. _Wrong question_. _Be on her side._

Hunk nearly yanked Yellow vertical, startled hard enough that his fingers involuntarily clenched, and his feet kicked downwards, trying to plant his weight. Hunk shook his head, amused when he overrode Yellow's control to force Yellow to do the same.

"How do you—" Hunk coughed, self-conscious.

Ahead, the airship sent down anchors, dropping itself to the large open area before the palace. Green and Blue landed by the airship's bow, while Black circled around, laying Red down alongside. Yellow took up the last position, at the stern, claws digging into the dirt, prepared to face any rear attacks.

 _Do you know of my goddess?_ Hunk asked.

Yellow huffed, amused, answer enough. Another wrong question.

 _Fine, then._ How _do you know of my people's goddess?_ Hunk asked.

When Yellow merely released the hatch in its chest, Hunk sighed and jumped down onto solid ground. He turned around, staring up at the lion, who scanned the area for possible attacks. Yellow was a mechanical cat, but one with a presence so solid it was palpable. At times, Hunk expected to look over and see a Yellow become a cousin, a brother, an uncle. Yellow was someone Hunk had always known, even before he'd known Yellow existed.

"We'll talk about this later, then," Hunk promised.

 

 

 

Red's hatch opened, and Keith squinted at the faint light. The figure reaching for him was a shadow. Red purred and retracted the armor. Keith took one step and pitched forward.

Shiro caught Keith, controlling his fall. "Keith? Where are you hurt?"

"Red's shoulder," Keith gasped. "Right thigh. Left hand."

"Got it." Shiro relayed Keith's words to someone, then lay his human hand on Keith's forehead, thumb rubbing along Keith's brow. "Can you stand?"

"Don't know. What's happening?"

"We're clear," Shiro said. "The princess is meeting the Reiphod Prime."

"Ulaz is coming," Hunk said. "Don't move Keith until Ulaz has checked him out."

"Red's the one hurt," Keith ground out.

He submitted to Ulaz's check with only a few complaints. His right arm throbbed, and his left hand felt scalded. Keith lay stretched across damp grass, leaning against Shiro's chest. Hunk returned as Ulaz finished.

"Looks like the modifications I did actually weakened Red's exoskeleton," Hunk said, apologetic. "I think if I step those back, the rest should mend easier. If Pidge is any example, this is gonna hurt. Possibly kinda bad."

"Get it over with," Keith said.

Hunk moved away, and Shiro hauled Keith up to half-sit within the crook of Shiro's legs. Keith inhaled right as everything twisted, pain cutting through his body. Fingers pressed against his forehead, easing the worst of it. Shiro's warmth bounded the rest, reminding Keith where his body existed, outside his connection with Red.

Red whined, unhappy and frustrated at their shared pain. Keith sent fuzzy reassurances across the connection.

Dazed and only partly-aware of the people moving around him, Keith could only focus on one thing at a time. Thace knelt on Keith's other side, stern expression lit by a lantern now shining upon the small ring of people. A bolt of pain hit Keith in the leg and just as fast was gone.

"Keith?" Shiro asked.

"Leg's fixed." Keith bent his leg enough to push himself upright a bit more, glad of Shiro's support. He nearly keeled over again at the sensation of his shoulder being violently wrenched from its socket and snapped back again. "Arm," he panted.

"Give him a break between," Allura's voice came from somewhere overhead.

"No, get it over with," Keith whispered, holding his breath for the final blast. "Please—"

"Princess," Hunk shouted, from a short distance away. "That's not mercy, that's mean. Trust me on this one."

Keith's hand snapped open, clawing, agony tensing every muscle. He grabbed his wrist, and the pain was gone. Keith tilted forward, bringing his legs in to sit cross-legged. He shook his hand out, then rotated his right shoulder.

"All better?" Hunk asked. "Sorry about what it did to Red. Guess that solution needs more work."

"It happens." Keith waved off someone's hand, offering to help him up. Shiro's warmth moved away, giving him room. "Thace. Ulaz."

Thace took Keith by the elbow, but Keith refused to move.

"He saved me," Keith told Thace, surprised he could even manage words, still breathless from the aftershocks of the pain.

Ulaz grunted a protest.

Keith shook his head. "I'm alive because of him. And he's...not. I can't bring him back, I know that. But I won't let it happen again."

Ulaz' mouth flattened. Thace's brows went up, mouth curling, understanding.

"I'm staying," Keith said, startled when this time Red's presence settled in at his back. The lion's quiet rumble filled Keith's chest. "I won't run away this time. I can fight. And I will."

Ulaz sighed heavily. "How in the moons am I going to explain this to Kolivan?"

"I'll write it, you say it." Thace helped Keith to his feet. "Come on, we're finally being welcomed in properly. And you could use a bath."

Keith laughed, willing to lean on his teacher one last time. Ulaz walked on the other side, not touching, but close enough to catch Keith, if need be. The strange bubble of privacy around them remained, but Red stayed close, lingering in the back of Keith's mind. An odd pleasure seeped across their link, a satisfaction from Red that Keith had changed his mind. Keith nodded, a bit numb, then nearly tripped on the steps up to the palace's grand entrance.

 _You were listening, before_? Keith asked.

Red snorted, an of-course sound.

 _How_? _Only Marmora_ — Keith turned, looking back across the dark lawn.

Five figures stood around the darkened airship. Black lay alongside Red, while Green, Yellow, and Blue stood guard, turned away from their paladins. Thace urged Keith forward, but Keith stayed, astonished as Red raised his head, eyes gleaming, to look at Keith.

"Red?" Keith asked, bewildered.

Shiro had been ahead of them, walking with Allura, but he turned as well. "Keith? Is something wrong?"

"No," Keith said, and Red yawned and laid back down. "Guess not."


	16. Chapter 16

Lance stifled a yawn and followed along behind the two Marmora supporting Keith. The wide manicured lawn was springy under Lance's feet, and the night was balmy. If it weren't for the stern looks from Hira's sub-commanders, Lance would've willingly laid down right then and gone to sleep.

Apparently, being a paladin meant getting put on display. He sighed, leaning back to look up at the mass of buildings that formed the palace. Every vertical surface looked plastered and polished, gleaming in the light of Brother Moon.

The doors opened, letting the group into what turned out to be an entry hall. More like a columned auditorium, large enough for Black to rest comfortably, and black on every surface. Walls, floors, even the ceiling. It felt oppressive, even with the touches of gold at the base and top of every column, or outlining carvings on the doors.

Thace and Hira fell into place flanking Allura, with Coran next to Thace, and Kubala next to Hira. Ulaz and the remaining commanders grouped themselves behind, leaving the paladins in the middle row.

Lance slowed, looking over their rag-tag group. If Allura wanted help from Reiphod, the paladins needed to look the part. Cynically, it meant they needed to look like they'd be fine without Reiphod. Only one way Lance could see to give that impression. He let his armor slide forth, from the gorget down to gauntlets on his hands, greaves on his calves. The full deal. Still… he was missing something.

 _Hey, Blue._  Lance sent an image of what he wanted.

A sword formed from the armor. Short but strong enough to do damage, its sheath was beaten silver, etched with elaborate spidery blue curls like crested waves. Lance smiled, his smile widening as the other paladins realized what he'd done. By halfway down the entry hall, all five were decked fully in burnished silver armor, each piece etched with the colors of their respective lions.

Four guards opened the tall double doors ahead of them, falling into place before and after, an escort of four across a hall so long even Lance had to squint to see the Prime at the other end. At least this room's endless black was alleviated with a wide red carpet, stretching the length of the space. If Black could fit in the entry hall, an entire warship could fit in the throne hall.

Maybe three-quarters of the way down—barely inside shouting distance, in Lance's opinion—their guards halted, a signal for the group to stop. Allura went down on one knee, a hand on her raised knee, a fist to the floor. The rest of their group did the same.

The Prime welcomed them in the flat tone all Reiphodians seemed to cultivate. It made them sound permanently bored, or half-asleep. It made them easy to tune out, too.

According to Lance's childhood teachers, Reiphodians were distant cousins. The proof supposedly lay in their ears—as long as Allura's, but pointing downward, not up—and their eyes—the horizontal pupils appeared doubled. Probably from their third eyelids getting permanently stuck in place. Served them right for slinking off to a new land and forgetting their kin.

Allura rose again at the Prime's greeting. No one else moved, so Lance stayed down, too. The greetings between Allura and the Prime sounded entirely rote. Not even a mention of the guardians sleeping on the palace's front lawn, or the damaged airship barely staying in place with four working anchors instead of six. And no mention of what in the cold hell a squadron of Daibazaal tanka had been doing at the airfield.

Lance drummed his fingers on his raised knee, until Coran hissed at him. Lance sighed and tried to hold still.

Two attendants approached, beckoning to everyone but Allura and her four advisors.

"Go with them," Allura murmured. "We'll be meeting with the Prime privately. We'll see you after."

And they'd only just arrived. Couldn't it wait until they'd rested? Lance fell in with the rest, following their escorts to a side chamber. Nowhere near as large as the other rooms, it was just as depressing. The only light—or color—came from papered lanterns hanging along the walls, spots of gold against the unrelenting black.

The furniture was no different, rich black fabric on the low couches, arms and back encased in more carved gold-covered wood. The four couches were set up in pairs, a low table between. It felt oppressively dark, despite the bright lanterns and all the gold.

"Make yourself comfortable," one attendant said, with a low bow. "We have refreshments for you, while you wait."

Oh, good, food. Lance collapsed onto the nearest couch, and Pidge claimed the middle seat. Shiro and Keith took the couch opposite, with Hunk at the far end. Ulaz and the others continued to the second seating area, except for one, who peeled off to sit beside Pidge.

Lance frowned, and Pidge whispered the man's name. Martan, one of Allura's personal guards.

Silent servants, dressed in black, gold-accented like everything else, delivered trays filled with small dishes. Not exactly a whole meal, but Lance took a piece here, a piece there. He chewed without tasting.

He kept his gaze somewhere around Shiro's knees, just to have something to look at that wouldn't look back at him. If he'd felt a rush at being in the palace, that was gone. The battle-furor was passing, and with it, the last of his energy.

He felt tired, empty, and longing for something he couldn't name.

"Hey," Hunk said, breaking their group's silence. "You're Altean. What do you know about the previous paladins?"

"Did you have a particular one in mind?" Martan took another one of the pastries.

"Well, the Yellow Paladins," Hunk said. "Who were they?"

"That's not narrowing it down, much." Martan rubbed his nose. "Every Altean child learns the big names, but I can't say I know all of them."

"All of them?" Hunk wasn't giving up, even if he sounded as tired as Lance felt.

"There were the first paladins, and I think nine of them were Yellow Paladins," Martan said. "And the forty of the thirty-five, who fought during the Altean-Vakarian war." He nodded at Pidge. "No offense."

"We had a war?" Pidge asked, faintly.

"About four hundred years ago."

"Oh. Wasn't alive then." Pidge crammed another piece of fish into her mouth.

Martan grinned. "It's been awhile since I've been quizzed on this, but I think it's thirty-two Yellow Paladins, thirty-eight Blue Paladins—"

"Hold on." Hunk held up a hand, frowning. "I thought we're the twelfth time the guardians were called."

"Twice that, or more," Martan said. "For the first three hundred years, a new Altean monarch had to call the lions as part of their coronation. Once the lions appeared, they were dismissed. And of course, the times when something went wrong and not all the guardians appeared."

"But those paladins don't count, right? So why thirty-two Yellow Paladins?"

"Well, the first time the guardians came, they remained on duty for fifty-four years. They weren't dismissed until the fourth Queen of Altea came to the throne. And then Altea was mostly peaceful… I think the guardians were called only four times, until the thirty-five years' war."

Bored, Lance stopped paying attention. Martan had some amusing trivia, but Lance couldn't seem to rouse his usual interest. He did find it curious how Shiro seemed determined to ignore Martan completely, though. One number filtered into Lance's exhausted brain, startling him out of his doze.

"A hundred-ninety years of war, total?" Lance asked. "Thirty-eight Blue Paladins means most of them didn't live more than five years—"

"Yes, and then the lion would choose someone new," Martan said. "Though not as often as Red or Green, and none as often as Black."

"Just how many Green Paladins have there been?" Pidge asked.

"Forty-two, I think. Sixty-four Red Paladins, and eighty-two Black Paladins."

Keith looked shell-shocked. Shiro picked another seed from a slice of fruit, lost in his own thoughts.

Lance couldn't stop his brain from doing the math. "The Black Paladin averages a two-year life expectancy? That's _got_ to be wrong."

Shiro looked up at that, and Lance flinched away from the unreadable gaze.

"No, that's about right." Martan was strangely unperturbed. "It's a difficult position. The traditional Paladin strategy is a wedge, with the Black Lion leading the charge."

Blue's words darted through Lance's head. He put a hand to his temple, pressing hard against the growing headache. If he closed his eyes, he'd see the tanka crushed under Blue's claws, blood seeping from the chest-hatch. It was cold comfort to remind himself the enemy had shot at him and Blue first. It didn't make them any less dead.

And someday, it'd be his turn. Before he could really process what that meant—or how he should feel about it—Hunk stood.

"If you need me, I'll be out front." Hunk waved off Martan's startled expression, and strode off, barrelling right through the attendants rushing to offer help.

Or trying to stop him. It was hard to tell. Hunk yanked the massive doors open and left. Lance sighed and took another tiny sandwich. Keith made a sound somewhere between a growl and a cough, drawing Lance's attention. Keith stared, expectant. Shiro and Pidge did the same.

"What?" Lance asked. "I don't know anymore than you do."

Keith scowled.

"He's probably just—" Lance stopped, thinking. _Blue_ , _is Yellow alright?_ The images made his head pound worse. Scared, or anxious. Lance couldn't tell. Blue's images were too scattered. "We need to go."

Shiro rose, then Keith. Lance considered snatching another sandwich, thought twice, and took the entire tray. Pidge grabbed a second tray of sliced fruits and sweets. Lance tapped two fingers on his forehead, and she beamed, understanding his salute.

Lance followed the rest of his team, spinning on his heel to walk backwards as the rest of the Altean contingent stood, with questioning looks.

"Hey, we'll just be out front." Lance gave them a cheery wave. "I'm sure you don't need us for all the political fanciness, now that we've made an appearance. As you were, everyone!"

Two attendant zeroed in on him, and Lance let his armor retract with a thought. The metal slithered up his shoulders, reforming into a simpler breastplate, and a fauld around his waist, a loose belt of linked silver. It was enough to send the attendants back a step, and Lance breezed on through, catching the door before it shut behind Pidge.

Lance had another sandwich, pausing to enjoy the evening view. Pretty lanterns lit a gravel walkway that stretched along the full periphery of the open space. The five lions were dark shapes against the sky, standing or lying around the airship.

Figures moved along the path, one bending and standing, over and over. Looked like Hunk hadn't gone to Yellow. Or at least not directly.

Pidge stopped, letting Lance catch up. "What's he doing?"

"Gathering rocks." Lance shrugged when Hunk tossed a rock back, and picked up a different one. "But only certain ones."

"I can tell that," Pidge replied, crisply. "Why?"

"I'm no expert, but if it's rocks… it's probably a Balmeran thing."

Pidge gave him an unhappy look. "Maybe I shouldn't be here? I can tell you and Hunk and Keith… think I'm just another Vakarian, or something."

"You _are_ Vakarian."

"I know! I just mean—" Pidge stared down at the tray in her hands. "If he's doing something Balmeran, will his god get mad that I'm here? Should I go back inside?"

Lance wiped his fingers on his breeches and thought it over. "I'm gonna say no. We're on the same team, now. And… the Balmerans worship a goddess. Not a god. She's their goddess of the dance."

"Oh." In the lantern light as they trailed the others, Pidge looked thoughtful. "The Trinity moves in intersecting spheres. That's sort of like a dance, isn't it?"

"Not exactly." Lance could see where she was going with it. "If your gods are like a beautiful stained glass window, the Balmeran goddess is a rock thrown through that window. Order versus chaos."

"Seems backwards." Pidge's laugh sounded nervous. "Balmerans are so orderly, all about the rules. Vakar is so noisy and turbulent and… well, chaotic."

A goddess of destruction worshipped by pacifists, and a trinity of life-givers whose people learned assassination and subterfuge before they could walk. Where did Lance's own people fit in? What was there to say of the unified spirit that moved in every creature and thing, from gobies to whales, from a grain of sand to the entire vast ocean?

It didn't matter. Lance had no place in that world, if he ever had. He cut across the grass, walking the length of the airship to join the group standing before Yellow.

Keith fell in alongside, coming from the airship with a bowl in his hands. Water sloshed, and Keith slowed his steps even more. They joined Shiro, whose arms were full of smooth rocks. One slipped free, and Lance darted forward, catching it without spilling the tray in his other hand.

"Thanks," Shiro whispered, as Lance put the rock on top of the rest Shiro held.

Hunk took the bowl from Keith and set it on the ground before Yellow. The lion stood tall, eyes gleaming bright enough to cast a golden glow across the group. Lance set his tray down, just a little away, and motioned for Pidge to do the same. Whether or not Hunk wanted an audience, Lance didn't want to assume, anymore than he wanted Hunk to feel obligated.

"Hey, I'm going to check on Blue," Lance announced, a bit louder than he intended. "Pidge, how's Green doing?"

"Green's…" Pidge trailed off, eyes widening as she got his meaning. "Oh! I should totally check on her. Uh. I'll be with Green." She ran off, turned, came back and snatched three pastries, and ran off again.

Shiro laughed, and Hunk shrugged.

"They're good pastries." Hunk did the orange sash from his forehead, snapping it once. It unfolded, yellow-and-orange checks glowing in Yellow's eye-light.

"Come on, Keith," Shiro said, catching Keith by the shoulder.

Only Lance was left, staring up at Yellow. Blue's whispering images danced in his head, memories of Yellow so ancient Blue could place neither when nor how. Overlaid with that, the image of someone with Hunk's broad shoulders, brown skin, but a face in shadow.

Hunk laid his sash over one shoulder. "You didn't have to make everyone leave."

"Yeah, I think I did." Lance grinned. "Do what you need to." He pointed at the trays by his feet. "Besides, we're leaving the snacks with you. Of course I'll be back."

 

 

 

Allura sat in the chair offered, hands folded in her lap. The Prime—a Reiphodian of indeterminate age, gender, or any noticeable dialect other than the flat tone their people preferred—sat about twenty sticks away. Certainly not conducive to private conversation, but it seemed the Prime's minister of foreign affairs intended to do most of the talking.

Other chairs, less ornate and hopefully more comfortable, had been offered to the rest of Allura's people. An equal number ringed the Prime; Reiphod was nothing if not determined to achieve symmetry in everything. It had to be driving them mad to look out upon their perfectly oval lawn and see the lions tumbled about so haphazardly.

In the absence of anyone else available—Hira had little patience for such conversations, Thace was an outsider, and the entire Reiphodian contingent would've swallowed their tongues if Allura had spoken—Coran was the logical choice. His court tunic may've been a bit worse for wear, but it hadn't affected his diplomatic skills.

Coran and the minister had covered the weather, the outer sea crossing, and the latest news from Altea. Every word skirted the question of Daibazaal's presence at the airfield, while pressing subtly. It wasn't even swordplay. It was more akin to watching to two people stand at a distance and throw needles at each other.

Allura's mind wandered as the words began to run together. Until a new word bubbled up between the sounds. Her own name.

She straightened up, though she knew better than to look around and give away her alarm. Coran's voice echoed oddly in her ears, drawing out and snapping back.

Someone tapped on her shoulder, and she knew immediately the person wasn't present. There was only one person who had the skill, and the strength, that Allura wouldn't instinctively shut out. Allura let her eyes go unfocused, turning her attention away from Coran's overlong response.

 _Narti?_ Allura pushed her mental voice to the front of her mind. _Narti! Did you get home safely?_

 _We did._ Narti's voice had always felt curiously gray in Allura's head, but never so thin.

Perhaps it was the distance? Narti had never been further than Chandra, the few times she'd extended herself to reach Allura on Lotor's behalf.

Allura frowned, worried. _Are you alright? You sound tired._

_I've been trying to get your attention for several hours._

_Sorry._ Allura surfaced long enough to make sure Coran continued to talk, and focused again. _We just arrived in Reiphod. Tell Lotor I promise I'll pay for his airship's repair. Somehow._

 _You need to return to Altea_ , Narti replied. _Immediately._

 _Five lions won't defeat Zarkon's forces. Reiphod should help._ Allura checked the Prime's self-satisfied expression. _I hope. If not—_

_There's no time. Zarkon's not conquering. He's exterminating._

"That's—" Allura burst out, catching herself.

The entire room froze. Even the guards raised their heads to stare at Allura. One of the Reiphodians behind the Prime pulled out a fan, snapping it open.

"Princess?" Coran asked.

"Please, continue." Allura knew better than to apologize in front of the Reiphodians. She waved, off-hand, and pulled her awareness away. _Is there anything we can do to buy time?_

 _I'll ask._ Narti's voice faded, barely enough to maintain the connection. She wasn't much louder when her attention returned. _There are missing regalia. A sword, earrings, and two sets of rings. Zarkon would hold back, if he thought he risked destroying those._

 _I'll start rumors_ , Allura promised. _You five be careful, and my gratitude for the warning._

Allura shivered from the chill that always came in the wake of Narti's departure. Asking about the regalia was as good as admission that someone—likely Lotor's mother—had stolen everything else. If Honerva had known where each piece was hidden, she'd known of the location of the Black Lion's jarta, too.

Hira rose, invited to speak by one of the representatives behind the Prime. Allura twitched her fingers at Coran, who bent over to hear. She cupped her hand over her mouth, suspicious of who might also have Vakarian skills among the Reiphodians.

"The next chance you get," she whispered, little more than a breath. "Mention we must return to retrieve the remaining regalia. Let them believe whoever has the regalia controls the lions."

Coran backed away with a slight bow, expression perfectly bland. Allura wished she had a fan, too, to hide any hint of her troubled thoughts.

The average Altean would say the regalia made no difference, preferring to believe in the guardians' autonomy as the best course to balance a power-hungry Queen. The average Altean would also be wrong. Whomever found those missing regalia—especially if they already possessed the remainder—would control the lions, absolutely.

 

 

 

Hunk recited the prayer for the dead as Yellow's keen filled the air. Hunk's heart ached, but he soldiered on through the last four verses. With that done, he took up the bowl of water, readying himself.

Yellow lowered his head until his massive jaws were around the pile of rocks. The lion exhaled and withdrew, and Hunk poured the water over the rocks. The ground was a stranger here, but it rose to Hunk's request.

One by one the rocks were drawn into the earth, burying each, sealing their bonds to a final resting place.

Yellow threw his head back and roared. Not just once, but over and over. Hunk lost count, ears ringing. Yellow's roar slowly dwindled to a howl, furious grief run its course. Hunk got to his feet, wiping away the tears with his sleeves. Yellow's weeping continued, silent, gentler, but the lion lowered his face, seeking Hunk's touch.

Odd to soothe something that was once organic, now mechanical, and absolutely bearing a soul within. Hunk had seen engineering achieve amazing feats in his life, but no set of cogs and gears would ever mourn like feeling being.

"I know, buddy." Hunk wiped his eyes again, and planted his feet solidly. "Show me. I can take it." Every memory, sent into the ground to nestle among the rocks, leaving Yellow free.

Yellow hesitated, whuffling once before conceding. The lion pressed its nose against Hunk's chest, and Hunk spread his arms, holding on, cheek against the cool exoskeleton.

The memories fell on Hunk like an avalanche, a torrent pounding at his sanity. Images flashed so fast Hunk felt as though he pressed into Yellow. The bones grew out and over him, pulling him in, absorbing him into the marrow of Yellow's being.

Hunk opened his eyes to a glittering darkness. A million pebbles swirled around him, each one a memory in the thunderous tornado. Strong light broke in thin shafts, a midday orange like the sun over Hunk's Balmeran homeland.

"You've seen our homeland," Yellow said, from beside Hunk. Or behind him, before him; Yellow's voice came from every pebble, every memory, every swirling emotion.

"I grew up there," Hunk said. Within the center, it was peaceful, almost hushed. Hunk crafted childhood memories as rocks of his own, and tossed them into the air.

"Oh," Yellow said, longing. "The stories were true. It was a beautiful land."

"You don't want to see it for yourself?"

"It's not my home."

"Altea hasn't been home to our people for centuries," Hunk said, gently. "Allura offered us a place, but that's not the same as having a home."

"My home was Altea, my people, my temple. It's always been my home."

Hunk dragged his gaze from the whirlwind around him, to the calm center. It felt as though Yellow came to rest, beside him. Hunk could only make the faintest outlines, grainy and blurred like a carving worn smooth by centuries of rain and wind.

"I don't know this land." Yellow's presence moved, as if scuffing the darkness at their feet. "It feels weak."

"Limestone." Hunk laughed. "Nowhere near the toughness of Altea's granite. I prefer the sandstone of Balmera, myself. Granite's so stubborn."

A pebble fell from the whirlwind, landing in Hunk's palm. A single memory, of strong brown hands placed upon variegated gray stone. To the left and right, others lined the wall, readying themselves to coax the rock into breaking free. Grinning, dusty faces, heads covered with orange cloth, low enough on the brow, in the archaic style.

Hunk smiled, delighted. "You built the castle in Oriande."

"I don't know. I don't remember."

"Show me another memory, from that time."

Hunk held out his hands, accepting each detail, turning them over and slotting them in with the rest. He smiled as the picture became clear, and let the broken memories sift through his fingers.

"What do you see?" Yellow asked, sounding younger.

"You were either child or apprentice to the castle's architect—" Hunk paused, two ill-fitting details rearranging themselves to a clearer understanding. "She didn't build the castle, she built our temple!" Regret crashed over him. "And then Altea—"

Yellow's presence whirled, suddenly, as if agitated.

"Shhh," Hunk said. "It's alright. We're going to restore your home. I won't settle for land on the outskirts, either. We'll reclaim the temple and get the mountain to welcome us again."

"It's been too long."

"Granite _can_ forgive," Hunk said. "It takes time and patience, but it'll happen. I bet it's just lonely. Like you've been, hunh."

Yellow shifted, pacing counter-clockwise against the whirlwind's movement. The memories lightened, sunlight breaking through to warm Hunk's face. Beyond lay more darkness, but Hunk ignored that. The warmth wasn't true sunlight, but a caress of quieter memories.

"I'm not used to words," Yellow said.

"Didn't you talk with your other paladins?" Hunk asked, curious. None of the memories showed any person in the foreground, only Yellow's view across countless battlefields.

Yellow brushed past Hunk's shoulders, and it felt almost like a shrug. Hunk opened his hands, catching a gust of memories. Yellow was stubborn and cautious, and his paladins had treated him like a child, with all the understanding and speed of a rock. Bullied into accepting paladin after paladin, unable to grieve when paired with warriors who revelled in the bloodshed made possible with Yellow's strength.

The sunlight darkened, the memories spinning thicker and faster. Yellow's presence scattered, bits and pieces torn away by the fury.

"Shhh, I'm here," Hunk said, wishing he could catch hold of Yellow, reassure him like a younger brother. "No one'll do that to you again. Not on my watch."

The whirlwind of rock shards eased, Yellow coming to rest beside Hunk. Still uncertain, but calmer.

"I guess I'm just surprised," Hunk said, not wanting to upset Yellow again. "I thought you'd had other Balmeran paladins."

"Only you." Yellow exhaled, and the whirlwind rippled with the sound. "I waited forever."

"How does it work? How do you know who to choose?"

"Priests decide. But this time, someone else opened the door. When you came through the gate, I knew it'd be you."

"Right, all the jarta I had!" Hunk laughed. 'Guess it must've stood out, to see someone carrying so many."

Yellow's presence flickered, uncertain. "Carrying what?"

"The jarta." Hunk cupped his hands, demonstrating. "Round rocks, about this big. From day-lizards."

"Oh." Yellow's tone was indifferent. "Elder woke me, telling me to search, to choose for myself."

"Who's Elder?"

Yellow was silent for a moment, mild frustration coloring the space around Hunk. Several memories pelted Hunk, who caught the pebbles bouncing off his shoulders and head. Hunk smiled as each image flitted by.

"You call the Black Lion _Elder_?" Hunk asked, amused. "Like, Elder Brother, Elder Sister?"

"Elder is all of them."

"Got it," Hunk said, since that seemed to make Yellow happy, even if Hunk had no idea what it meant to be _all_ , or who _they_ were. "So… Black, I mean, Elder, woke first, and woke you?"

The question seemed to confuse Yellow. "Elder never wakes."

Hunk scrunched up his face, just as baffled. "Oh! You mean Elder never needs to wake? He, uh, they—were already awake?"

"Elder listens," Yellow offered.

This wasn't going to get them anywhere. Hunk checked the darkness at his feet, and over his head. The swirling tunnel of pebbles seemed to go on forever. The baffling questions about Black could wait until later.

"Probably more important to figure out what we do next." Hunk considered the darkness again. Maybe if he treated it like a dream, and imagined a ladder? Should he go up, or down? "We can't stay in here forever."

"I don't want to fight anymore." Yellow's presence drifted, nebulous, uncertain.

"I know. It's hard." Hunk sighed. "We might not be able to finish the task, but we can't walk away, either. I want to tell you it'll all be fine, but I can't. I don't know."

Yellow's diffident movement was a sigh in return.

"We'll get through it, together," Hunk promised. "If we're going to save your home, it'll take both of us."

The brush of Yellow's arm was nearly tangible, a sweeping movement somewhere between surrender and frustration. The years of endless battles and empty sleep between had shattered the passage of time into fragments, leaving Yellow broken, not polished.

Hunk had held back from the furious swirling storm, but perhaps it was time to set aside his own fear. Wherever they were, in this darkness, this was also a work Hunk wasn't free to abandon. He opened his arms.

"What are you doing?" Yellow whispered, frightened.

Hunk imagined himself wider, taller, deeper, enough to embrace Yellow's turbulent awareness within his arms. Hunk grasped the pebbles, caught the dust, ignored the scratches of every ugly painful memory, every lonely moment, every quiet longing. Carefully he brought his arms closer, bringing Yellow close.

The avalanche thundered through Hunk's soul, but he coaxed the memories as he would sandstone, listening to the grain, the crying and laughing and sighing and shouting. PIece by piece, he drew it together, until it was warm and still against his chest.

Hunk let go, and Yellow stepped back. Almost of a height with Hunk, Yellow had younger features, round boyish cheeks and a man's square jaw starting to show. An orange scarf covered his hair, with a few brown strands working free. Yellow's eyes were honey, almost gold against his brown skin. His smile was uncertain, growing in strength as he met Hunk's gaze.

"You're just a kid," Hunk said, surprised.

Yellow glanced down at himself, and spread his hands. Square palms and short fingers, warm and strong. Hands that could do rend stone, or cradle a living creature. Yellow put his hands to his chest, fingers spread, mouth curling downwards. He seemed to be assessing his appearance, or the sensation of it, with great care.

"Something wrong?" Hunk asked.

Yellow shook his head, continuing to marvel.

Hunk grinned. "Any chance you remember your name, now?"

One of Yellow's memories popped into Hunk's head. Fractured like the rest, it was of people talking, echoes from lives long turned to dust. The sounds overlapped enough to get the gist, and Hunk felt the shock like a full-body blow.

" _That's_ what you called Altea?" Hunk stared, even more surprised when Yellow laughed silently, shoulders shaking. Hunk giggled. "No one's gonna believe me! Our elders spend days arguing about where Toriad is—oh, no _way_. Toriad… Oriande?"

Yellow made a little gesture, almost like he thought that obvious. Gaining his form had cost his voice, or perhaps he didn't want to risk speaking, if sound might break him apart again. His body and expression said it all, though.

"Well, wow." Hunk laughed. "All the texts say the stone for the people of Toriad is yellow jasper, and all this time it was actually—"

" _Hunk!_ " Lance's voice, far away.

Closer, Black's roar, reverberating through Hunk's bones. Hands grabbed at Hunk's shoulders, pulling him backwards. He shook them off, lunging forward to catch Yellow's hand. Warm, rough, and real.

"I'm not leaving without you," Hunk said, as the other paladins yanked him out of the darkness and flat onto his back on wet grass.

Overhead, the stars wheeled in their paths, the first moon high overhead, the second moon trailing. A shape blocked the second moon, and Hunk rubbed his eyes, groggy. The shape resolved into Shiro, wearing a worried smile.

"Hey, guys," Hunk said. "I just had the strangest…" He sat bolt upright, startling Pidge into a yelp. "Where's Yellow?"

"Right there," Lance said, motioning over his shoulder at the Lion. "Hasn't moved."

"No, I meant—" Hunk shook his head. Obviously it was going to take more effort to free Yellow from that bone-cage. He gave Yellow a tired wave. "Sorry, buddy. You're stuck for a little longer, I guess."

 _Do the work,_ Yellow whispered in Hunk's ear. _Together._

Words took more effort, then, once Hunk no longer occupied the same space. No matter. Hunk could imagine Yellow's true expressions, shading the subtle nuances in Yellow's words—and huffs, growls, rumbles, and roars. The lion's eyes were half-open, gleaming like the famed jasper everyone said came from the legendary land of Toriad.

"What happened?" Lance asked, snapping Hunk back to reality. "It was like you and Yellow were both completely comatose, or something. For an _hour_."

"More than that," Keith said.

Pidge made a face. "I'm telling you, he was sleeping."

"And I keep telling you, he wasn't snoring," Lance shot back. "That wasn't—"

"Okay, okay, enough." Hunk crossed his legs, getting comfortable. "Give me a bit. Need to wrap my head around things."

A bubble of light formed to Hunk's left, the glow lighting up Keith's face. The bubble drifted upwards from Keith's hand, floating across to sink down upon the grass in the middle of the circle. Keith sat beside Allura, while Lance sat opposite Hunk, with his back to Yellow. Pidge and Shiro were on Hunk's other side.

Hunk gave them a tired smile. "I got to meet Yellow. The _real_ Yellow."

Somehow he'd figure out Yellow's true name. Until then, just saying the lion's name seemed to be enough for Yellow, who settled his presence beside Hunk, leaning into Hunk so tangibly Hunk was tempted to try and sling his arm over Yellow's insubstantial shoulders.

"What do you mean, the real Yellow?" Pidge sat back on her heels. "What's not real about the lion?"

"Not what I meant." Hunk rubbed his head. "I'm still figuring it out. Turns out, before Yellow was a lion, he was a boy. Sixteen or seventeen, an apprentice or son of a master stonemason, and… and anointed by my people's goddess."

"Not a god, an avatar," Lance breathed. "Coran said Altea began as a coalition of refugees from all over. Two warlords were about to squash Altea between them, so the tribes got together and somehow created the guardians."

"Each of the strongest tribes each contributed a god," Allura said. "Those five became the guardians."

"We'd never sacrifice our goddess." Hunk couldn't believe anyone would even suggest the idea, let alone believe it. "But… if someone volunteered who was anointed, they'd carry a piece of the goddess with them."

Pidge made an odd squeaking sound and promptly clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Red is Marmoran," Keith said, in the silence. "He could listen without setting off our charm against eavesdroppers. He'd have to be Marmoran, to do that."

"Yendali," Allura said. "According to the legends, the five are Balmeran, Yendali, Vakarian, Altean, and Pavoni."

"Which Alteans?" Lance asked, in a warning tone.

"Polluxian." Allura made a face. "They didn't call themselves Alteans until later. But Red is supposed to be the Altean lion. Red's paladins are always Altean."

"Red is _Marmoran_ ," Keith repeated.

"Hold on," Pidge said. "Where did the Marmora come from? Have they always been in Thaldycon?"

"Only in the past century or so," Hunk said. "When Daibazaal took over Yendalia, the Galran tribes fled. We had trade across the inner sea with them, since we crafted their blades. They settled in Thaldycon as a buffer between us and the Chandrans."

"Red's Yendali, then, and Green…" Pidge took a deep breath. "Green is Vakarian. And more than that, I'm pretty sure she was a Vakarian magi."

Hunk shivered at the chill settling across the group.

"Green's not going to hurt any of you, not willingly," Pidge challenged. "I know all of you hate Vakarian magi, but Green's not like that—"

"Hey, no one's saying that," Lance murmured, putting a hand on Pidge's shoulder. He squeezed once and let go, his smile crooked. "Guess you figured that out once you and Green didn't match up so well?"

"Yeah, it's kinda freaky, Green's affinities are—" Pidge's jaw dropped. "Wait, you said Yellow was, what was that, something from your goddess, Hunk?"

"Anointed," Hunk said. "It means the goddess chose him for a specific task."

"The trinity," Pidge whispered. "I figured out two of Green's affinities, but there was one I didn't try. It's just… only a few people a century have it. And even rarer in combination with the other two—"

"Can you maybe use words in an order that'd make sense for the rest of us?" Lance asked.

"If I'm right, Green's a triune magi. Her affinites would make her blessed, in Vakar." Pidge grinned. "Immensely powerful, too. Undefeatable, even."

"Okay, whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it," Hunk ordered. "Putting you both back together once was enough."

"I told you, we're not going to hurt any of—"

"Not us, Pidge," Shiro said. "You. No more unnecessary risks."

"Yeah, but—"

"Pidge." Shiro's tone brooked no argument.

"Fine, fine," Pidge grumbled. She turned to Allura. "You said before that Blue's paladin is always a foreigner. But if the guardians were from the Altean tribes, Blue isn't a foreigner."

Lance's expression shut down, and Hunk put up a hand.

"Hold that thought," Hunk said. "It's late and we need to sleep on this. Just one question, Princess. My people were one of the tribes, and according to Yellow's memories, he helped build a Balmeran temple in Oriande."

"In the city?" Allura looked shocked. "I have no idea where."

"I think it's the castle, actually," Hunk said. "Like, an older part of the castle, now. I'd guess."

"Maybe the original floors? They're far below the rest, but that part's been unsafe for centuries. That's why we moved the castle higher on the mountain. That's what my tutors said, at least."

Hunk ignored the history. "You offered us land. I'm returning it to you. I've promised Yellow that when this is done, we'll restore the temple. My people will return as one of the tribes of Altea."

"In Oriande? Oh, uh—" Allura glanced across the circle at Shiro. "I'm not—" She broke off with a small laugh, almost bitter. "Oh, why not. I'm already overturning everything else. What's a few hundred Balmerans, on top of that?"

"You've got yourself a Yellow Paladin," Hunk teased. "But…" He leaned back to look up at Yellow, who'd remained unmoving, eyes half-closed. "I'll help you free Altea, both now and after, but Yellow's tired of fighting. He wants to go home, and be left in peace."

"Of course, but—" Allura held up her hands, warding off Hunk's words—or maybe it was Pidge's and Keith's matching scowls that prompted her reaction. "I'm not arguing with you. Six hundred years is long enough for anyone. I doubt anyone expected the lions to become permanent."

"Except they did," Shiro said.

"And I have even less clue how to break _that_ bond," Allura retorted.

"Then maybe it's time you think about it," Hunk said, and stood. "I know you probably have news from meeting with the Prime, but I've had enough. I need sleep."

The rest of the circle stood, and the bubble of quintessence popped.

"The only pressing news is the Prime's offered us a warship," Allura said. "Once I arrange with the crew, we'll be departing."

"Good," Pidge muttered. "I can't take anymore of the Reiphodian decorating scheme."

"In the meantime," Hunk told Allura, "if we can figure out how the bond might've been made, then we can figure out how to unmake it."

"I can't promise anything," Allura said.

"I'm not giving you a choice," Hunk said. "However it happened, this time Yellow got me, and this is where I draw the line. Yellow has fought long enough. Once we've won back Altea, it's time to release the guardians."


	17. Chapter 17

Pidge was damp, didn't like it, and liked even less that no one else around the table seem bothered. Reiphod wasn't just warmer, it was more humid, and its early spring had arrived with the paladins, according to Martan: rain, and more rain. A fine gray drizzle that cooled nothing, and seemed to seem into the airship through every broken jalousie vent, every crack in the airship's exterior walls. Trapped in a too-small room with everyone made the constant damp nearly suffocating.

With the offer from the Reiphod Prime, Allura had called a meeting, all souls onboard available to meet around the captain's table. Allura, Hira, Coran, Shiro, Thace, and the captain and his pilot, Platt and Chulatt had come first, claiming places at the table. Pidge had wheedled her way through the room, determined to be up at the front so she could see. She'd ended up at the table's edge between Shiro and Coran. With five commanders and lieutenants, the rest of the paladins, three more from the crew, and the two Vakarian magi, there was barely enough room to move, let alone breathe.

Pidge craned her neck, looking for Matt. Ulaz hadn't come either. Pidge elbowed Shiro, who shook his head a fraction.

Allura called the room to attention. "We wanted to make sure we wouldn't be overheard. Reiphod has offered us use of a warship, with full crew and armaments."

"We'll be leaving Captain Platt here," Hira said. "Reiphod has promised to see to the repairs of your airship."

Platt coughed. "Thanks, but we'll pass. We're still capable of flying. I'm no diplomat, so I'll be blunt. I don't trust the Reiphodians."

Point to him. Pidge was pleased someone was willing to say it.

"Fact is," Platt continued, "Princess, I'm not sure why you would, either. Not after that greeting committee."

"I haven't decided." If Allura noticed Hira's sudden scowl, she gave no sign. "We have three choices. We take the risk. Or we can hire you to continue flying with a damaged airship, Captain. Or… we can arrange for you to follow us, and we'll choose a place to force down the warship. We'll evict the crew, and your crew will take over, Captain."

"And just abandon this old girl?" Platt looked dubious. "She's not that damaged."

"We need those armaments," HIra insisted. "Regardless who crews it, we cannot return empty-handed. A full warship would not only bolster our armies' morale, it would be safer for transporting the princess."

"And it'd be half the speed," Platt muttered.

Or not, if Pidge and Matt could harness their wind affinities. Where was Matt, anyway? He'd want to be in this meeting, at least to help keep an eye on the two Vakarians. Plain and stoop-shouldered, their only distinguishing element was one's bright green hair, and the other's bright gold hair. Otherwise, they looked like branch family magi who'd spent their careers assuring intransigent clients that miracles were possible.

"I agree with the princess that the Reiphodians have not acted in the most _transparent_ manner." Hira didn't quite smile, but something in a her tone implied it.

A dimple flashed in the woman's cheek, and the two sub-commanders stifled laughs. Coran unrolled a map across the table, and Pidge helped catch it, holding it open with a sweaty palm.

"I say we head to the Prime's airfield," Hira said. "We take command of the warship now, rather than give them the entire night to prepare traps."

"How soon are we to rendezvous with the armies?" Shiro asked.

"Forty-eight hours. I don't want to delay longer and risk Daibazaal realizing the net we're casting." Hira tapped her fingers on the table. "The sooner we can be in Hadar, the better."

"What?" Pidge asked. "We need to head to Altea, not Rygnirath!"

"We have a full flotilla of thirty thousand waiting for us," Hira said, sharply. "Chancellor Grygan has also offered a flotilla of his own, with additional ground troops."

Pidge glanced at Shiro, curious. Shiro's expression told her nothing. He might have been carved from stone, except for the slight curl of his brow.

"The sooner we reach Rygnirath, the better," Allura said. "One way or another."

"It's a matter of timing." Hira held a short stick, snapping it once. The sections extended into a long pointer, and she tapped on the map's insignia for Thayserix's capital. "The longest distance are the fifth and sixth divisions, coming from Thayserix and Pollux."

"General," Martan said. "Why not have them—"

Someone banged on the door, then shoved it open. Hunk yelped and stumbled sideways into two of the sub-commanders. The door opened just wide enough for Matt to stick his head through.

"We've got a problem, Princess," he said. "Radala's passed out in the kitchen with Vara and Plachu."

"That's—" Allura blinked a few times. "Unexpected, but—"

"Come on, move it," Matt said, pushing the door further. "They're not drunk, and they're not sleeping on the job. Turns out Reiphod delivered food for the crew. Radala eats before she cooks… and the food was drugged."

"What?" Allura took a breath, and her expression settled into stern lines. "We're out of time. We can discuss strategy while we're in the air, General. Paladins, get your lions on board. Captain, I want us out of here, immediately."

"We need that warship," Hira said. "We can handle—"

"I won't leave behind this crew to suffer whatever fate Daibazaal has planned," Allura waved her hands at the sub-commanders around her. "Move, move!"

Pidge turned to face the broad chests of two lieutenants, both too busy asking questions to notice her attempts to get by. Over the growing din, Coran yelled questions at Matt about Radala's status. The two commanders debated the warship, while the Captain shouted accusations at the Vakarians, then the lieutenants. Hira and Allura weren't listening, busy arguing over Grygan's offer.

The room had been hot. Now it felt stifling, the air too thick. Pidge pushed, complained. No one even noticed her.

A hand fell on Pidge's shoulder. Shiro stood behind her, then he twisted around her. She ended up behind him, and he caught her hand, pressing it against his belt. She got the message and hooked her fingers in, readying herself.

And then Shiro simply slammed his way forward, much like she'd expect Hunk to do. Pidge held on, dragged along in his wake, marveling as Shiro moved people, whether they liked it or not. From some of the insults, most didn't like it in the least. Shiro ignored them, and Pidge kept her head down, staying close. A moment later they were out, and alone in the hallway.

Shiro gently unhooked her fingers. "Better?" He asked. "You were looking almost green."

Pidge took a deep, shuddering breath. "I hate being short."

"Hey!" Lance nearly fell out of the room, Keith and Hunk behind him. "Wait for us!"

Matt came last, shutting the door behind him. The noise cut off, and Matt sagged, wiping his forehead with exaggerated relief.

"I think your sound-dampening is out of whack," Pidge said. 'You made everything in the room seem three times as loud."

"And four times as hot." Hunk flapped the hem of his tunic. "Thought I was gonna pass out."

"In here," Shiro said, beckoning them into the navigator's office. "Matt, dampen it for us?"

"Sure." Matt wove the motions, so quick his fingers barely flexed. A strange calm settled over the room, bringing with it a light breeze. "Fewer people means you can actually feel the cool, this time."

"Oh, that is nice," Hunk said, eyes closed in pleasure.

"Focus." Shiro faced the team, arms crossed. "I don't think Reiphod is behind everything, but I don't trust their offer of a warship, either."

"They let Daibazaal hang out waiting for us," Lance said. "How does that not make them guilty?"

"I don't think they had a choice." Matt wove another layer, and Pidge tensed. Matt gave her a quick smile. "I think it's those magi. I've been picking up on echoes when they relay messages. It's too subtle to track, but it's there. I've already told Allura and Hira."

"They knew? And they're keeping the spies around?" Hunk looked disgusted.

"No, that's smart," Pidge said. "Disinformation."

"So Reiphod's just handing us a warship to get rid of us?" Lance asked.

"Possibly." Shiro didn't look like he cared. "Our issue is keeping the lions out of Daibazaal's hands. Thoughts?"

"When we load up the lions, it slows this airship down," Pidge said. "I was thinking Matt and I could work up something to reduce the drag. Or maybe increase the tail wind."

"Even if we don't do that, it'd still be faster than a fully-armed warship," Matt added.

"I could take a look at the engine." Hunk rubbed his chin. "I bet there's a way to boost its efficiency, at least in the short term."

Shiro nodded. "Keith?"

"We should take the warship," Keith said, startling everyone. "Daibazaal isn't going to hold back. We need those weapons, and the room to transport the troops. We claim the warship now, switch out the crew, and be gone before Reiphod can react."

"It's still risky," Shiro said. "Especially with the lions."

"The gains would be worth it," Keith insisted.

"Maybe." Shiro didn't sound convinced. "Lance?"

"We split up." Lance put up his hands. "Hear me out. We put the lions on the warship, it could be a trap, and the lions can't fight without tearing the ship apart. We keep the lions on this airship, and we'll slow it down. There goes our only advantage of being able to outrun Daibazaal. If we split up, Allura might not be such a tempting target, and the airship can get away."

"Sure," Hunk said. "But then we're the targets, and I'm not so keen on that, either."

"I agree the warship would be a gain, but I can't shake the thought the offer was meant to be too good to refuse," Shiro said. "We don't have time to make adjustments on the airship, either. We're going to have to split up. We'll leave immediately, before Reiphod—or those magi—catch on. Matt, do you know Allura's backup plan?"

Matt grinned. "I've been sending secondary messages to people General Hira could personally vouch for. They're the ones giving the real commands to each army. Daibazaal is expecting four armies to show up on the beaches of Yalian, but the real rendezvous is Neqal. On the north side, we'll be coming from Teidal, but Daibazaal will be waiting at the port of Udiade."

"Alright. Pidge, Lance, Hunk, you three head for Neqal. Keith and I will head for Teidal. Matt, we'll need you to stay here as relay for Allura."

"Actually, you don't." Matt dug in his pockets, bringing out two earrings. "I'd say look what I made, but Hunk made 'em. I just wove a relay into the silver."

"Allura said there used to be earrings made to let the Queen talk to the paladins across huge distances." Hunk made a face. "Err, we haven't tested them yet."

"It'll be fine." Matt tucked the earrings away. "Just a few finishing touches, is all. And If I'm with Pidge, I'll be close enough to relay, if the earrings don't work. Easier if I'm with you and sending, rather than trying to receive."

"Alright," Shiro said. "Anything else?"

"When should we be there?" Pidge asked. "It's not going to take us forty-eight hours to reach Neqal, if we're going at top speed for a lion."

"Try twenty hours," Matt said. "Daibazaal's going to arrive early and still be late."

They split up. Hunk and Keith divvied up the leftovers they'd taken from the palace. Pidge packed, thankful Lance had the bright idea to suggest taking blankets so any passenger wouldn't freeze in the lion's pocket. Pidge came out of her quarters right as the corridors filled with people hurrying on their own errands.

A few quick casts rendered the bag and bundle of blankets unremarkable. Strangely, she passed four people in the corridors and none looked at her twice. Her casts had been doing that for the past few days, feeling overpowered and a little unwieldy. At least with Matt along, they'd have a chance to discuss it.

She made it to Green in record time, only slipping twice on the wet grass. "Alright, girl." Pidge climbed into the hatch, wiping the rain from her face. "We'll leave as soon as Matt joins us."

Green purred, entertained by the idea of a night flight.

"Paladins." Allura's voice sounded almost breathy. "Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, princess," Pidge said. "You sound weird, though."

"Subvocalizing," Allura explained. "It's like talking without using air. If you can hear me, it works and that's all that matters. Matt's on his way, Pidge."

Someone rapped on Green's chest, and Pidge opened the hatch long enough for a rain-soaked Lance to thrust a bag of food at her. It was bigger than Pidge expected, but still didn't feel like much.

"Added my share for Matt. Don't want our communication guy to starve." Lance patted Green's hatch doors. "See you at the mouth of the Great Neqal." He saluted and ran off towards Blue.

"Leaving now," Keith said.

"Hey," Pidge complained. "Matt, where are you?"

"Climbing up. Got waylaid by Martan and Yator about the last communications from Pollux." Matt groaned. "Okay, that's a really tight squeeze with that shield on, Pidgelit." The hatch over Pidge's head thumped as Matt landed. "I'm in."

"Pidgelit?" Lance laughed.

"Shut up, Lance," Pidge muttered. "Alright, girl, let's go. Nice and quiet."

Green's tail thrashed once and she launched herself into the air. The night sky was overcast, and Pidge swung Green around, eying the city's lights to orient herself.

"Open ocean ahead," Lance said. "See you three on the other side."

The line went oddly hollow, leaving Pidge confused. "What happened? Did Lance go out of range?"

"Coming up behind you, and I've got Ulaz with me, too," Hunk said. "Shiro? You get away okay?"

"In the air now," Shiro said. "Keith, how far ahead are you?"

"I'm at the triple peaks to the city's north-east," Keith replied. "The right one is a bare flat-top. Touching down to wait for you."

"I don't get it," Pidge said. "You're already how far, Keith, and I can hear you fine. Where's Lance?"

"Blue probably took him swimming," Shiro said. "He'll check in when he surfaces."

So that was why Lance turned down his food and gave it to Matt. He'd planned ahead to get soaked. Pidge turned Green due northeast, ignoring the lion's unhappy rumbles about flying over water. _You know it's going to bother Yellow a lot more._ Green's responding huff felt like a shrug.

"See you in Oriande, Shiro," Hunk called. "Hey, Pidge, Yellow says we should take the coastline. We can turn east once we get to the straits."

"Take the lead, then." Pidge swept Green down and around, falling in at Yellow's flank. "How long do you think this'll take?"

"Shiro paced the airship easily on our way to Reiphod, so if we can keep up that speed, maybe three hours or so?"

Green purred a challenge, and Pidge grinned. "Green says we can go a _lot_ faster."

"Sure, and then we get there with _eighteen_ hours to wait. Yay."

"Hold that thought," Matt broke in. "Can you ask Green to give me some light, maybe? I don't want to cast a lightning ball inside her."

Pidge relayed the request, and Green rumbled a slight complaint, more noise than heat. Matt laughed, and Pidge knew Green had done something.

"Okay, okay, not quite that bright! Alright, let me look at my notes. Not the fanciest map, but if we turn east at the mouth of the straits, we're going to be within uh, twenty to thirty miles of the Altean coast. From what Thace told me, that's within Daibazaal's usual scouting range."

"Green can light up her little cabin?" Ulaz asked, reminding Pidge of his presence in Yellow's pocket. "Does that mean Yellow can dampen the sound in mine? I know you two need to stay awake to pilot, but I'm too old for staying up all night."

"Before you do that," Pidge said, "why aren't you staying with the princess? I thought you were going to help us."

"Someone has to get back to Thaldycon and let them know what's going on," Ulaz replied. "I'd rather not relay that information across Vakarian channels. No offense."

"None taken." Pidge grinned, abashed. "You haven't exactly seen our good sides, I guess."

"I have, more than you realize. Volume level, Hunk? Wake me if you need me." Ulaz grunted, getting comfortable. "Please do not need me until we're on solid land again."

"Good night," Matt sang out. The only answer was Hunk's quiet laugh.

Ahead of Green, Yellow banked left, cutting away from the coastline and into the mountains. Pidge leaned, tightened her fingers, and Green caught up, falling back into place.

"Hunk, warn a person," Pidge said.

"Sorry! Yellow's like a sentient compass. He's been through these parts before." Hunk chuckled. "I think it's mostly the heading-home part, though."

 _Do you miss home?_ Pidge asked Green. Images flooded Pidge's head, and she had to ask twice more before she grasped Green's meaning.

Green missed a home that had never missed her.

 _I'm sorry_ , Pidge said. _What about Vakar? After this is all done, we could go there._

Green's sadness vibrated in Pidge's bones. _Not my home._

"What was that?" Matt asked. "It was like a tiny earthquake. Is Green alright?"

"Now you're making my brother—wait, you could hear her, Matt?"

"More like feel than really hear, but I _am_ inside her." Matt's groan became a whine. "Please don't let her roar. I'm not sure I could handle that volume so close up."

 

 

 

Everything in Shiro's view was edged in silver, touched by starlight. Once they'd reached the mountains of western Altea, their conversation had eased into a comfortable silence. The only other time Shiro had experienced that had been in the chilly damp of that cell, listening to Keith's breathing beside him.

Half of what Shiro saw, he doubted was even visible. It was Black's own images, centuries of memories, layered like stained-glass. Each image slipped away like a the pages of child's picture-book, flipped through too fast.

Red flew at Black's side, eye-beams alight, entire body nearly quivering in excitement. Beside Keith's spirited lion, Black felt almost languid, flying with no waste motion, while Red darted ahead and fell behind, then rushed ahead again.

Shiro had been through these mountains, a year after coming to Altea. Hiking with the eleven slaves who'd eventually become his squad, trailed by an entire squadron. Shiro had been thirteen, with no experience in Altea's higher altitudes. It'd been baffling to wipe sweat from his brow thanks to the fierce summer sun, then step into a tree's deep shadows and find icicles hanging from the branches—and that was nothing compared to his bewilderment that Alfor expected Shiro to lead everyone.

To somewhere, Shiro had guessed, but he had no idea where. He'd chosen the direction of north because it was the first path that lay open before him in the valley's thick undergrowth. From there, he doggedly pushed on, day by day, with no idea what he should be seeking, or what he was expected to know.

The ground had risen, they'd been forced to backtrack, find a pass between the peaks, and continue. After a half-moon, Alfor had agreed it was pointless, and a warship had come to fetch them. If there had been anything in the mountains that had called to Shiro, he'd had no intention of listening. Not for Alfor, not for anyone Altean.

_Are you not curious?_

Black's voice was a rush of wind, less spoken word than the sensation of letters Shiro had long forgotten.

 _I don't know,_ Shiro said, hesitant. _I didn't grow up here. I don't know this place._

_This is our home, beloved child._

For the second time, Shiro struggled. He wanted to protest, but a younger version of himself cried instead, a voice buried under years of scar tissue. With no idea how he should respond to Black's peculiar address, it was easier to let it be. And besides, by his estimate, it was eight hours to sunrise. They'd made better than expected time. If Black wanted to detour, they had perhaps six hours to themselves.

That notion alone left Shiro almost reeling. Time, to himself, with no demands other than an eventual destination. He forced his muscles to relax, relinquishing control to Black.

 _Show me_ , Shiro said.

Black slowed, gazing back and forth across the dark mountain range.

Red dashed past, only to turn and come back. "Shiro?" Keith asked.

"Black knows this area," Shiro said. "We have a few hours. Are you alright with a little exploring?"

"We have nine hours, according to the chronometer." Keith's half-swallowed laugh sounded like one of Red's amused huffs. "Ulaz made me take his, to make sure we wouldn't be late."

Black rumbled, wings flexing suddenly. The joy rushed through Shiro, and he might've been bowled over if he weren't strapped into Black's interior. Black turned sharply north and took off, flying low, claws skimming the treetops.

"Whoa!" Keith's cry was delighted, and Red roared, thrilled by Black's sudden aerobatic turns. "I didn't know Black could move like that."

Shiro grinned, despite being unnerved by the way Black's low flying made Shiro's stomach twist and flip over. "I know we're not as agile as you and Red."

"Yeah, but obviously Black knows the way." Keith let Red fall back a bit, to give Black more room for the turns.

Black's wings remained spread, and gradually Shiro realized the dips and bobs in Black's flight patterns were from its wings. Black wasn't powering its flight using its mechanical thrusters. It was actually flying, sweeping and dipping, banking through curves, its tremendous wingspan brushing the darkened treetops.

And with each beat of its wings, they rose, farther up the mountain side. A diagonal path with unexpected sideways sweeps between two peaks, and around again. The convoluted path felt intentional, as well. Black didn't pause, nor check its progress. Black halted itself with an upright shift, beating its wings three times.

"I guess this is it," Shiro said.

Silvery granite rose into a peak above the treeline and sparkled in the moons' light, the cliff almost entirely vertical for what looked to be at least four hundred sticks. Circles of darkness spotted the cliff, but Black wouldn't light its eye-beams. Shiro had no idea if the circles were cave-openings or shadows in the cliff's uneven surface, except for the largest, directly ahead. It had to be a cave opening. A ledge jutted out, shallow, yet sturdy enough to take Black's weight. Red darted past, rolling sideways with a cheerful chirp.

"Red thinks Black is stalling," Keith teased. "Are you coming or not?"

"Wait, Keith, we don't—"

Red shot towards the ledge, landing gracefully. The lion's eyebeams barely cut the cave's darkness, and then Red slipped inside.

"Keith!" Shiro grinned. Too late, Keith and Red were happily exploring.

Black swept upwards on the mountain's updraft, pulling its wings in to land on light claws on the ledge. It was a tight fit, and Black's pleased rumbles echoed through the space. As far in as Black's body length, and the space opened up enough for Black to lay down. The hatch opened, and Shiro let the bindings release around him.

He stepped down from Black onto smooth granite, a polished surface nearly slick under his boots. Black's eyebeams were low, lighting only the pool of space around Shiro. A bubble of light appeared beyond, and Keith stepped into Black's light, quintessence in his raised palm.

"Come on," Keith said, catching Shiro by the hand. He pushed the bubble into Shiro's palm and lit a second one for himself. "Red found carvings, come see."

 

 

 

Pidge kept Green an easy distance behind Yellow, following the glint of yellow and bone in the growing moonlight.

"Should be a port city somewhere up ahead," Hunk said. "There's the coast... okay, I've got visuals on the city's lights."

"That means airship traffic," Matt warned.

"Yeah. Veering east now," Hunk said. "Hey, Allura, can you still hear us?"

A faint cough echoed in Pidge's ears. "Apparently so," Allura said.

"What's the status, princess?" Pidge asked. "Everything alright there?"

"So far, it's quiet. I'm on the airship with Thace and Martan. Hira and the rest took the warship as a decoy. We're about forty miles behind you… and that'll just get larger. It feels like your speed is gradually increasing."

"Don't blame me," Pidge said. "I'm just keeping up with Yellow."

"Sorry! Yellow's just excited." Hunk sounded downright fond. "He's busy sorting through all his memories. It's like a massive puzzle with a thousand pieces, but he wants to show me what the temple looked like when it was first built."

 _Can you do that, Green?_ Pidge asked.

Green gave a bored huff, message clear. She agreed with Blue: the past was gone. Little value in weeping over days long forgotten.

Pidge sighed, not sure whether to reassure Green or argue about it. Her curiosity was eating her up, but she also didn't want a three-hour trip with an annoyed lion. Time to change the topic.

"How do you know we're that far ahead?" Pidge sent Green through a roll, wincing when Matt yelped as his world flipped upside down. The moonlight gave her a sense of the shape of the land, and the starlight told her where the sky ended. Everything else was dark. "I don't even know where we are."

"It's hard to explain," Allura said. "Somehow I simply know that's how far you are."

"Really? So where's Lance?" Pidge asked.

"About… sixty miles due east of you, roughly." Allura frowned. "But he's found a way to be silent. I've called his name, and he doesn't answer."

"He can do that," Matt said. "I haven't figure out how, but I think it has to do with water."

"Those earrings seem to be working pretty well," Hunk said. "It was pretty nifty making them, like a teeny version of when I repaired the fractures in Green's armor."

"Wonder if we can do a three-way cast," Pidge said. "Green has a bone affinity. Add lightning and water, and use metal to hold it together… we might be able to try again to protect the lions."

"Hold on," Matt said. "What do you mean, a bone—"

"Good luck," Hunk broke in, laughing. "No one's gonna agree after what you did to Green."

"You're the one who did it to Red," Pidge said. "I bet I could convince Lance, though. He'd probably do it on a dare."

"Matt, I have a question," Allura said. "Before, I managed to muffle all of you by talking to Thace, then you said my name. Now it's like you're all standing next to me again."

"Can Keith and Shiro hear you, too?" Pidge asked.

"If they can, they're not responding. I haven't heard either of them for the past half-hour, maybe more. They're both about sixty miles west of our track, on a north-north-east heading. But I do need sleep, and if they—or you three—start talking again, I'm worried it'll wake me up again."

"Whoops," Matt said. "Concentrate on something else, and the sound will fade. Saying someone's name with the intention of speaking to them—not just of them—will refocus it, for that person."

"Thank you," Allura said, a smile in her voice. "I don't mind. It's making me a little melancholy, is all."

"Aw, you miss us?" Hunk asked.

"Well, I have gotten used to you." Allura sounded like she, too, was getting comfortable. "No, more that these remind me of my mother. When I was little, the only regalia she showed me were the earrings. She used to take them out, and we'd listen."

Pidge frowned at that. The lions hadn't been called since Allura's great-grandmother's time, though. Green's rumble was a warning, but Pidge had squashed her curiosity enough. "Listen to who? What could you hear?"

Allura sighed. "Have you ever held a seashell to your ear, and you can hear the ocean, even though you're miles inland? It was a sensation like that, but instead of the ocean, it was a dinner party through closed doors. Sometimes I fancied I could hear voices, but it was probably an echo in the magic, somehow."

"I'm not sure," Matt said.

"Oh, yeah, maybe," Pidge cut in, not wanting Matt to distract Allura from answering the questions bubbling in Pidge's head. "The earrings were pretty old, so who knows. But what happened to them?"

"I suspect they were stored with everything else," Allura said. "About a year before my mother died, the minister of relics insisted on a full inventory. It'd been almost fifty years. There were one or two things the Queen keeps in her possession, but the rest were returned to the temple's keeping."

"Like the rings," Hunk said, low. "Seems if they went to the temple, they didn't stay there."

"They might never have been inventoried. Hira said they'd been in her family for five generations." Allura sighed. "The Queen kept for herself a necklace with a simple metal disk, a sword, and the Black Lion's jarta."

"Oh," Pidge said. "The jarta that you said had gone missing."

"Right, and we didn't even need it," Allura said. "It was just an especially large banded jarta. Probably kept for ceremonial purposes. Show off the Queen's authority." She sounded almost cynical about it.

Pidge held back on her questions. Something in Allura's voice, under the hint of bitterness, seemed so lonely. Pidge's father had been in exile so long she could barely remember him, but she'd grown up with the rest of her family close by. She'd spent most of her childhood wishing she'd be left alone long enough to experience loneliness.

"No one's seen the necklace since my grandmother's time," Allura continued. "And the sword… I think it's just a soldier's sword. It holds an edge better than most, so I carry it, but I don't think it's anything special. My mother's earrings were works of art. The sword is just… a sword."

"But it was your mother's, and her mother's before that," Hunk said. "That still means something, even if it's not magical. When you hold it, your hands are where your mother's once were. It's like holding hands across time."

Pidge smiled, liking that imagery. From Allura's startled sigh, she did, too.

"We'll quiet down here," Hunk said. "Long enough for you to fall asleep, princess. We'll let you know when we've reached the mouth of the Great Neqal and met up with Lance."

"Thank you." No mistaking Allura's yawn. "And Hunk… thank you."

"Sure thing," Hunk said.

Pidge smiled. "Sweet dreams."

Green purred. For a moment, Pidge felt warm and safe, but the purr took on an ominous note. Almost like a warning to stay awake, stay aware. Pidge sent every image she could think of to ask, but either none made sense to Green, or Green wouldn't—or couldn't—explain more.

"Alright, girl," Pidge whispered. "When you're ready, I'll be right here."

 

 

 

The darkness pressed down on Keith, an almost palpable thing, but Red's presence curled around him. He felt no fear, only a mild trepidation for intruding on someone's privacy. He stepped carefully through the fifth chamber he'd investigated, feeling more than seeing how each footstep sent up a puff of centuries of dust.

They'd explored the carvings along the wall of the main cavern, Shiro having no better idea than Keith what any of it meant. The only parts intact were way over both their heads. Like everything else Keith found, someone had smashed what they could, broken pieces left where they fell. Shiro had wanted to join Keith in exploring the rooms off the largest corridor, but Black had urged Shiro back with a series of rumbles and huffs. Black knew where to find fuel for a fire, and bedding, Shiro said. Keith had waved them off, unbothered by exploring on his own. He sent regular reassurances to Red, sulking at being left alone.

His instincts hadn't led him wrong, though. With the trees so far below, whomever had lived here had used a more efficient method of heating: charcoal. Keith let his armor extend, then removed the breastplate. Red's chirp echoed down the stone corridors to the little room Keith had found. The pots along the shelves were smashed, destroyed like everything else, and left to lie—along with a sizeable stash of dust-covered charcoal.

Keith scooped the charcoal into the bowl-like breastplate, and carried it back to the main cavern. Red watched, fascinated, as Keith knelt beside the square hollow in the floor, near the back of the cavern. Wind and years had swept away the ashes, but the purpose was unmistakeable. Keith piled half the charcoal into place, then backed up.

"Alright, Red, light it up."

Red chirped, bent down, and let out a jet of flame. The entire heap of charcoal burst into flames. Keith shook his head. Admittedly, for Red, it had been a tiny flame, but it was still as big around as one of Shiro's arms. Keith probably should've used the flint, instead.

Black returned, coming as far in as it could before laying down. Red paced the little fire and lay down on the opposite side, head down. Red's eyes drifted closed, a soft purr thrumming in the back of Keith's mind.

"Keith," Shiro called, from up on Black's back. "Shine some light this way? Last summer's grass is now our bedding."

A moment later, a large chunk fell on Keith's head. He sputtered, brushing it off, unable to hide the smile.

Shiro leapt down with a laugh. "Sorry! Where did you find kindling?"

"I found charcoal." Keith pointed to what had been his silver plackart, before he'd had Red shape it into a jug. "I found a spring, too. Tested it, and it's good."

"Tell me you didn't pull a Pidge and test it on yourself."

"Got water-testers in my kit." Keith brought over the rest of the grass. "How much did you get?"

"As much as I could fit. Even this won't make stone any softer." Shiro chose a spot within reach of the fire's heat, piling up the hay, and laying the blankets down on top. "I'm glad I took Lance's advice and grabbed more bedding, but.." Shiro grinned. "I can't believe I'd ever say this, but dirt would be more comfortable."

Black huffed, and Shiro waved a hand over his shoulder at the lion.

"Find anything else interesting?" Shiro asked.

"Just dust. Found some furniture, but it's beyond rotted. Crumbled away when I picked it up." Keith shrugged. "Was this a Galra home?"

"You mean like the Yendali?" Shiro shook his head. "I thought the Galra liked wide open plains, not closed-in spaces."

"It's not closed in. Whole place is wide-open. Even my tallest teacher wouldn't need to stoop to go through the doorways. Has Altea ever had giants?"

Shiro sat back on his heels. "Not that I've ever heard, but I'm no expert."

Keith set the chronometer to chime in four hours. It wasn't a lot of sleep, but it was more protected than they'd have once they reached Teidal. It'd mean leaving before dawn, to Keith's disappointment. He'd rather like to see what the rest of the carvings looked like, in daylight.

"Bet Hunk would love this place." Keith headed to Red, scaling the lion's shoulder armor to dig out his pack and his bag of food. "Probably put one hand down and be telling us every nook and cranny. We should bring him here someday, see what he can tell us."

Shiro had already fetched his own pack of food. Keith knew he had little to call his own, but it bothered him that Shiro didn't even have a change of clothes. Keith made a note that once they met back up with the airship, to ransack Lotor's closets. The man had to have an entire spare wardrobe on his own private airship. Better still, Lotor and Shiro were close in height.

They settled down on the bedding, food spread out before them, a quintessence bubble casting gold on everything within its reach. Keith set the armor-vase in the charcoal, while Shiro figured out how to turn his own armor's knee-guards into cups. With the Marmora powder every operative carried, Keith made them hot drinks, and they settled in, legs crossed, comfortably silent.

A small lump remained, tucked into Keith's tunic, the one thing he'd not brought out. He hadn't only gone to tell Ulaz, after all. He'd gone to grab the last of the ginger-treats from the jar he'd found in the airship's kitchen. Keith pressed at his chest, debating whether to give the treats now, or wait until they'd taken the worst edge off their hungers.

Shiro reached out and caught up a round shape about the size of a fist. "All you ate in the Reiphod palace was pomuka." Shiro unpeeled the thick skin, revealing the fleshy golden interior. "When I had a chance, I got more for you."

Keith's heart nearly stopped. This was it. As a child, he'd loved when his mother would tease his father by telling Keith about Galra traditions. How she'd brought the thick-headed human his favorite fish, how it'd taken seven visits before the man had caught on and returned the affection. Keith had stifled every fanciful notion of Shiro ever doing the same, and still found himself repeating the same quiet, earnest attempts at courtship.

Now that Shiro was offering, Keith could barely move.

Shiro tore the pomuka into two, the thin-skinned sections leaking at the seams, tangy juice. Keith wasn't sure which made his mouth water more, the scent of his favorite—and too rare, in Thaldycon—Yendalian fruit, or the way Shiro's fingers deftly tore off a section and held it out.

Wordless, Keith took it, savoring the flavor. The bubble's shimmering gold lit up Shiro's smile. With the tilt of his head and the curve of his spine, Shiro's entire posture spoke of ease. And maybe delight, too, the way Keith had felt when he'd first stumbled over the street candy-seller in Chandra.

A second section of the fruit, then a third. Near-silence, but for the slight crackle of the charcoal, the rustle of last year's grasses shifting beneath the bedding. Red huffed, tail swishing once, and Keith caught flashes of memory bleached by time. A good memory, though. Keith took the fourth piece, chewing slowly, then the fifth, heart pounding in his ears.

Shiro paused, fiddling with the next section, tearing it off too slowly for Keith's sanity. Had Keith's mother felt half this trepidation, this worry that such precious offerings would be seen as simple generosity?

"Another?" Shiro held out the sixth piece.

He still hadn't said the words. Had Keith's own father ever said them? Keith couldn't remember the details. He wasn't sure how to tell Shiro without breaking courtship's necessary balance. He had no experience, only his mother's—and later, Kolivan's—vague warnings.

On impulse, Keith caught Shiro's hand, raising it to his mouth. He nibbled on the fruit, sucking the juices before biting down. The juice ran down Shiro's fingers, and Keith licked up every drop, taking his time. His tongue swept the last bit of fruit into his mouth, and with it, Shiro's index finger. He chewed softly, crushing the fruit between his teeth, tongue curling around Shiro's finger, sucking.

Shiro whimpered, hand jerking in Keith's hold. Keith's first instinct was to hold on, before Thace's lectures kicked in. Keith let go with a start, mortified. The entire point of waiting was to let someone speak, rather than corner them, and he'd nearly done worse.

"Uhm." Shiro cleared his throat. The golden light mixed with the faint crimson flickers from the fire, giving Shiro's hands the illusion of shaking. It seemed to take him forever to divide the final sections and offer one.

This time, his hand held the piece upwards, not downwards. He wasn't dropping it into Keith's open hand, but offering it. Again Keith cradled Shiro's hand between his own, eating from Shiro's fingers, chasing every drop. Shiro's breathing was ragged, in time with Keith's heart.

Keith licked each of Shiro's fingers clean, then down to the palm, running the point of his tongue back up to the tip of Shiro's index finger. He wanted to hold on for longer, but he had no excuse, with the fruit gone. The last piece rested in Shiro's other hand, seemingly forgotten.

Red nudged Keith, a soft mental shove. It took every ounce of control not to spin and give the lion a baffled look. Red's rare words repeated what Shiro had once said, but that was before Red and Keith had ever met. Keith let hope crowd out his confusion, swallowing hard as he realized: Shiro _had_ said the words. Reversed from the order Keith had been taught was proper courtship, and far sooner than Keith had expected, but the words had been said. As Red's nudge confirmed, that still counted.

"Now when I eat this, I'll always think of you," Keith choked out, wincing when the echoes bounced his obvious nervousness back at him. He cast a quick glance at the last piece of fruit.

This was it, the final step. Shiro's expression was a mix of too many things. Astonishment, embarrassment, Keith couldn't tell. He caught the last piece from Shiro's hand, and held it before his mouth. He had to swallow again to get his voice to work. Meeting Shiro's eyes in that moment felt like it required so much courage, nothing else he'd done came close.

"Share with me?" Keith asked.

Shiro nodded, jerkily, silent.

Keith put the piece in his mouth, halfway. This wasn't what his mother had done, and it wasn't what he'd heard when older students talked. By rights, they'd exchange something, not sharing but giving and receiving. Keith had nothing to offer, and his mind was too scattered to consider whether he should apologize, withdraw, and try again once he could do it properly. But he also couldn't fathom withdrawing, if he even had a place to flee. His only way was forward.

He held the fruit between his lips, and stared at Shiro. He didn't mean to challenge, but he could feel the curl in his brows. Shiro didn't move. The silence dragged on, broken only by the pop and hiss of water spilling from the makeshift teapot, dowsing a glowing chunk of charcoal. Humiliated, Keith reached up for the fruit, and nearly jumped when Shiro caught Keith's hand, tugging Keith forward.

Shiro leaned forward at the same instant, eyes wide and meeting Keith's, head tilting to the side.

In the fiery-golden half-light, Shiro's eyes closed as he bit into the fruit, a piece at a time, so slowly Keith could barely breathe. Their lips met, and Keith closed his eyes, torn between panic and exhilaration. The fruit had mostly dissolved, juices filling Keith's mouth, and then Shiro's tongue was in his mouth, instead, chasing the tangy flavor.

Shiro pulled at Keith's hand, placing it on Shiro's shoulder, as Shiro's hand brushed Keith's cheek, cradling him close. The sharp almost-sweet taste merged with the flavor of Shiro's mouth, until the only thing Keith could taste was Shiro.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay -- fighting off a summer cold that's turned into a respiratory infection, and now I'm off for a weeklong workshop out of state. not sure how much writing I'll get done while I'm gone, so this chapter is sadly shorter than I'd planned but hopefully it'll tide everyone over. <3

Allura squinted against the golden beams of the rising sun, slanting in through the bridge's forward windows. They'd reached the coast of Vakar with the morning fog, now covering the land in rolling gray. Another hour and they'd be at Neqal, joining the gathered armies.

"Shiro," Allura whispered, trying again. "Keith?"

"We're here," Keith said, clear enough that Allura looked around to see who else had heard.

The captain stood at the helm, conferring with the pilot. Clanging came from deep within the ship; the rest of the crew had been working through the night to repair the worst damage. Martan sat on the low bench along the back wall, eating a pastry, one-handed. His other hand held the report-board from the Vakarian magi.

"Scouts say looks like Prorok pulled half his forces from the siege at Teidal," Martan called out. "Probably redirected to Udiade."

"Princess?" Keith asked.

Allura turned her back to Martan, and away from the morning light. "What's your status?"

"We're coming up on the gathering point now," Keith said. "I see… seven airships."

"First and second armies," Shiro added. "And looks like Chancellor Grygan made good on his offer. His flotilla is twice ours."

"Good. Keep me informed," Allura said. "Hunk? Did you drop Ulaz off safely?"

"Yep, maybe a quarter-hour ago," Hunk replied. "He said he'd catch a barge up the Great Neqal, and take the crossing. I don't know what that means."

"It's a Marmora-marked track," Keith said. "Thace will know what that means."

"Hey, Princess!" Lance yelled, and a roar followed his words.

"Amazing," Allura gasped. How had Matt hooked in the lions themselves?

Behind her, Martan yelped. He'd spilled his morning drink across his hands. Captain Platt stood in the center of the bridge, hands on his hips, looking annoyed. Allura followed Platt's line of sight to see the Blue Lion rising up from the rolling fog to flank the airship.

"Morning," Lance said, cheerful. "I got held up a bit, so Hunk and Pidge went on ahead. Figured I'd wait for you here."

"Holy…" Hunk breathed. "That's a lot of warships."

Allura breathed in the sound of his voice, feeling for the distance. About sixty miles north-east. Off to the north-west, Keith and Shiro were close enough to feel as one, about two hundred miles distant.

"How many?" Lance asked. "Can't this airship go any faster?"

Blue leapt forward into a tumbling roll, and dove back into the thinning fog. The river glimmered through the mist, a ribbon snaking through the foothills before the pillars of Vakar. They'd fly over, this time, rather than through, but it seemed Blue was inclined to take the long way.

"Hunk, any word from Green?" Allura didn't want to wake Pidge if she were still napping, but she didn't expect Green's purring to come through the line. The lions really were part of the connection. "Green?"

The lion huffed, somewhere between a cough and an abbreviated growl.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what that means," Allura said. "Hunk?"

"Maybe Green's happy?" Keith asked. "That's the sound Red makes."

"Unless Red's being tickled." Hunk giggled. "And then he chirps like a bird."

"How can—" Allura cut off her question. The lions were more magic than technology. Who was to say they couldn't be ticklish?

"Ignore him, kitty." Keith sounded disgruntled. "You don't sound like a bird."

Over the line, clear as a bell, Red chirped several times. Shiro laughed.

Pidge joined the conversation. "Okay, we've set up communications among the fleet leaders. Once you get here, Allura, I'll bring Matt to your flagship."

"You're too slow," Lance said. "I'm taking the river north. See you in Neqal." Abruptly, he was gone from the line.

"I hate when he does that," Allura muttered.

"When who does what?" Thace asked, from her side. He held out a mug of some steaming drink. "Here. Thought you'd need the wake-up."

"Oh, thank you." Allura accepted the mug, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic. She blew across the surface and took a sip, puzzled by the flavor. "What am I drinking?"

"Marmora road tea," Thace said. "A few more spices than you might be used to. I think the airship has Altean tea, if you'd prefer that."

"No, it's good. Different." Allura took another sip. "Thank you." Before she could say more, the conversation started up again in her ears. She tapped an earring to let Thace know, and he nodded, turning his attention to the land ahead of them.

"Looks like I'm being assigned to the third army," Hunk said. "Lance, get up here, the general from the fourth army is kinda pissed you're not here already."

"He's gone," Allura said. "I think he's underwater again."

"He needs to stop doing that. Fine, fine, I'll try and calm them all down."

"Do we not get a say in anything?" Pidge complained. "The fifth army general just told me when we get to Oriande, I'm to sit at the back and not doing anything."

"Sounds like Salla," Allura said.

"Reminds me of Hira," Pidge said. "Treats me like I'm five or something."

"They're first cousins—"

"Getting told the same." Keith's words were practically a growl, and it didn't help that Red's own growl echoed in the background. "General Dikata, whatever her name is. Seems to think Black is the only one who should be fighting."

"Hold on." Allura removed one ear-cuff, then the other, cupping them tightly in her fist.

Thace looked away from the vista of pillars, each gray column edged in morning gold. "Princess?"

Allura kept her voice low, embarrassed. "I feel like if I give Shiro orders, I don't know if he'll follow them. How am I supposed to trust he'll do as I need, if he won't trust what I say?" She sighed. "This might go so wrong. He doesn't like me, and I don't understand him."

"Is there a reason you'd keep him ignorant of your reasons?" Thace asked. "If you were Hira, you'd expect blind obedience. Are you Hira?"

"No! I mean, I know that in battle, there's no time to explain—"

Thace pursed his lips. "Are you in battle, right now?"

Allura smiled, getting his point.

"Trust is going to take time," Thace said. "What you need is to gain his respect."

"Great, the one—" She stopped, studying Thace's impassive expression. His ears were tense, not quite against his head. She'd spoken too quickly, when he'd wanted her to think. Allura took a deep breath, and the answer was as clear as the sun rising off the bridge's port side. "I need to respect _him_ , first."

Thace smiled around the rim of his mug.

Allura opened her hand, studying the ear-cuffs. She put them back on, closed her eyes, and concentrated. If she could call forth one person by saying their name, she had to be able to focus that, somehow. It would simply be a step beyond.

"Shiro," she said, clearly, loudly.

No answer from the man—or any of the others. The connection was silent, until Black rumbled. Allura had the sense the lion had just told her to wait.

"Please have Shiro come back," Allura told the lion. "I need to speak with him."

The airship turned, swaying Allura, and Thace's hand landed on her elbow, steadying her. She smiled, eyes still closed, concentrating only on Shiro. For some reason, his appearance kept blurring in her internal vision. She focused on other details.

His voice was almost a baritone, with an accent that surfaced in certain words like the echo of a growl. His laugh was quiet, a breathy huff. His hands were strong, his tread soft despite his size. He'd smelled of sweat and wet wool, when they'd first met; since bonding with Black, she'd caught scents of ginger.

"Princess?" Shiro sounded surprised. "Black says you needed me."

"I've been thinking about how this should work." Allura's words were unplanned, but she'd never gotten very far with Shiro by treating him like the average Altean noble. She shivered in the bridge's suddenly-chilly air, and downed the last of her hot drink. "Traditionally, the lions fight under the Queen's designated proxy. Usually the minister of war, which would be General Hira."

"I've been informed of that." Shiro's tone was guarded.

"Princess?" Martan's voice, from beside her. "What's going on?"

Allura kept her eyes closed but hissed, displeased. Martan might've been promoted to Hira's retinue, but ultimately he remained in Allura's command—and that meant Martan answered to her, not the other way around. If she had to open her eyes to remind him of that—and break this tenuous connection with Shiro—it would not end well. For anyone, but especially Martan.

"Shiro," Allura said. "I want the lions dealing with Daibazaal's airships."

"My orders from General Ranin were to protect the foot soldiers."

"I'm overriding those orders. Even if Daibazaal brings out its aitanka, only the lions have aerial capability, and defenses. I want you to have the lions focus on the enemy flagships."

Shiro was quiet for a moment, and Black's purr filled the space. There was no way to tell whether Black's reaction was at its private discussion with Shiro, or a pleasure at Allura's words. Allura smiled, anyway, despite the strange chill up her spine, as if a gust of cold wind had curled around her shoulders.

"Why are you saying this only to me?" Shiro asked. "This seems like something all of us should hear."

"They'll hear it in due time. I have a question, first. With the enemy flagships as your highest priority, what are your thoughts?"

"Are you… you're asking me for tactical advice?"

"I'm not asking for your advice. I'm asking for your decision," Allura said.

Martan inhaled sharply. At least he had the good sense not to interrupt again.

Allura held out her mug, blindly, and someone took it, which freed her hands to seek Thace's hand on her elbow. Not to dislodge him, but to grip in return, seeking strength. Hira was going to go ballistic when she found out.

No, she had to set that fear aside: the goal in this moment was to establish respect. Allura pushed away the tension between them, her questions about Shiro's past, or the offer she'd once made. Shiro may still wear a slave's collar—at least until she could arrange with the temple—but it was time she treated him with the same accord she'd give any Altean commander. The Black Lion had chosen him, and Allura could not imagine a better judge.

"You're my commander for the Altean aerial units," Allura declared. "I'm asking for how you'll achieve the goals I've outlined, and what you need from me to be successful."

Thace's fingers squeezed Allura's arm and relaxed. Not in warning, but approval. Despite the chill in the air, her chest felt warm. She didn't try to hide her responding smile.

"Oh," Shiro said, bewilderment clear. "Let me think."

"Be quick, we're about a half-hour out, and I'll need time to relay any changes in our strategy," Allura warned. "Call my name and focus on me, and that should narrow the connection."

"Connection?" Shiro said the word with a subtle, breathy, laugh. "We've been speaking through Black, Princess."

"Oh! Black Lion, thank you." Allura couldn't remember any grand titles for the lions. Altea had titles for nearly everything else. Why had none been given to the lions? "A half-hour, no more."

She removed one earring, then the other, and opened her eyes. Before her lay the small city of Neqal, and a sky full of Altean warships.

 

 

 

Hunk sat in Yellow, legs dangling from the chest hatch. The commanders and their lieutenants had gathered in a circle between the lions, ostensibly as though using the lions as guards. From Shiro's words, though, the paladins now had rank by virtue of the rank Allura had designated on Shiro.

"If Shiro's the chief marshall..." Pidge's voice was soft, as if she spoke mostly to herself. "Does that make us sub-commanders? Why would anyone put _me_ in charge of anyone? I lose something every time I pack my bag!"

Hunk laughed. "Just don't go experimenting on your pilots like you did with Green, and you should be fine."

"Keith?" Lance asked. "What's going on where you are?"

"Generals Ranin and Dikata took the news pretty well." Keith's grin was obvious. "General Hira looked like she had a few things she wanted to say, but she kept them to herself."

Hunk sobered as the meeting broke up, and the participants split up to return to their respective airships. At the same time, about forty soldiers marched out, splitting into three groups, one for each the lion.

Shiro's voice came over the connection. "Remember, the lions have one advantage over everything else in the field. No one can match our aerial maneuverability combined with our firepower. Do your best to capture any airship you can, but if you have to choose between that and protecting soldiers on the ground—"

"Tell me you're gonna say, protect the soldiers, right?" Hunk asked.

"He probably would've, if you'd let him finish," Pidge answered.

"Good enough," Shiro said.

"We aren't seriously going to have them all hang onto the lion's back, are we?" Lance asked.

"There's forty on Red's back, and they're fine," Keith said. "They said hooks just appeared where they needed, and they're all hooked on."

Yellow grumbled at that, and Hunk had to agree. Red and Keith were both far too unconcerned with the effects of making someone hang on the outside of a high-flying lion for what could be an hour or more of flight. Yellow sent several images at Hunk, with a tentative chirrup, like a question mark.

Hunk frowned, sorting the images out, then laughed. "Do it, Yellow!"

He patted the lion's exoskeleton and twisted in place to study the darkness within the lion's chest. Normally it felt like a cavity barely big enough to hold him. A sliver of light cut through the darkness. A new hatch had opened, behind where Hunk normally stood. The lion's exoskeleton could grow luminescent if needed, and that was probably the source of the internal light. Hunk got to his feet, and a finger's touch prompted the interior hatch to slide open.

Hunk stepped inside, marvelling at the ribcage-like feeling of the open space. Plenty of room for about forty soldiers, with their gear, and maybe supplies.

"Yellow, can they listen in on our connection, the way Matt could?" Hunk asked.

Yellow's grumble was the equivalent of a head-shake.

"Fair enough." Hunk felt along the ribs, pleased when enough light emitted to cast the space in a twilight glow. "We'll need straps of some sort, or handles. It can be a bumpy ride, and I don't want them jostled about and getting hurt."

Yellow huffed, and the lion's body shook.

"Don't just think about it, do it," Hunk said, pleased when the interior skeleton shifted before his eyes, changing to suit his request. "Awesome! Okay, let's lay down so they don't have to climb, and get everyone inside."

"Inside?" Lance asked. "What are you talking about? What did Yellow—oh, hey, you can what?" Lance's surprise sent his voice up a register. "Why didn't you tell me that sooner?"

Pidge snorted. "Green's refusing to even consider it."

"They're going to be ice by the time we get to Oriande," Lance warned. "And it's not like they're bringing kites."

"There's room enough inside Yellow, even if they did." Hunk stepped out of Yellow.

He waved to the three dekans, at the head of the squads. Shiro had said they'd be identifiable by the finger-long yellow bar embroidered into their tunics. When the three approached—two women, one man, and none looking much older than Hunk himself—Hunk explained how he'd transport them.

"Are you sure?" The oldest woman peered into the depths, uncertain. "What if this thing takes a hit?"

"Not a thing, a lion," Hunk said, patting Yellow's chest. "Leave the hits to me 'n Yellow. You'll be safe inside."

There wasn't enough time for the soldiers to argue for long, to Hunk's relief. They trooped in, looking around dubiously at the two steps of darkness before entering Yellow's belly. Hunk climbed in last, doing a final check that everyone had something to latch onto for safety. He closed the hatch and turned forward, letting Yellow's bindings wrap around him.

Hunk cleared his throat. "Shiro—hey, does this mean we're supposed to call you Commander Shiro, now?"

"I'd rather you not," Shiro replied.

"Oh, good, 'cause it's a mouthful," Hunk said.

"Yellow?" Lance asked. "Green? All clear? The airships are taking off. We need to get a move on, before what's left of the Yalian battalions figures out which end is up."

Green roared and jumped into the air, leading the way. Pidge yelled, "Wait, what's left? I thought you only hit a few."

"Maybe ten?" Lance laughed, and Blue took off after Green. "Did you think I was born knowing all about airships? Blue and I hit each in a different way. Then we waited to see which slowed down the most."

"Just like an engineer," Hunk said, approving. "I didn't realize you'd been that methodical about it."

"It was still risky," Pidge complained. "You still shouldn't have done that without backup."

"Naw, we were fine, we had a place the airships couldn't follow," Lance said.

"Hey, Shiro," Hunk called. "What rank commands a battalion?"

"Sub-commander." Shiro sounded distracted. "Why?"

"We should be sub-commanders, then, since we've got batta-lions."

Lance groaned. "Hunk, you coming or not?"

"Right behind you," Hunk said.

 

 

 

Lotor leaned back in the chair by the open doors, book forgotten across his lap. Narti sat opposite, hands folded in her lap, head down. Concentrating.

The garden's fragrance drifted in through the windows, reminding Lotor of Altea's lush green. Beyond the palace, beyond the city around the palace, the land was a rolling gold of steppes. Wildflowers like these grew nowhere else in Daibazaal.

Narti raised a hand, tapping once on the arm of her chair.

Lotor set the book aside and tapped once in response. He closed his eyes, letting Narti into his head. The sensation of her mental touch felt like a comfortable weight upon his shoulders, after so many years in each other's company.

A heartbeat later, Allura's voice sounded in his head. _Lotor!_ _Where are you?_

 _Still in Daibazaal_ , he answered. _I wasn't allowed to return to Altea. I heard you're trying to take it back, with Reiphod's help._

 _We are._ Allura sounded strained. _Reiphod…_

 _Was a trap,_ Lotor finished. _I'm sorry I wasn't able to warn you. Narti's been trying to reach you, but she says it's like something's been blocking her. Are there magi with you?_

_Not currently, but I doubt it's them._

Something in Allura's tone made Lotor suspect Allura knew the cause. He couldn't blame her for not divulging. Narti's link was secure, as far as he'd ever known, but he'd also never spoken of state secrets with Allura while under his parents' roof.

 _The last I heard, you're planning to break the sieges at Yalian and Udiade._ Lotor sighed. _Please tell me that General of yours hasn't been so rash. My father's sending reinforcements. A dozen flotillas—_

 _We'll be fine,_ Allura assured him.

 _Allura,_ Lotor said, plaintive.

_Cousin, there's nothing you can do from there. We'll be in Oriande within the hour._

_I—_ Lotor caught his breath, clues falling together. _Oriande? Don't tell me you're taking—_

The connection broke, jolting Lotor. He opened his eyes, blinking against the morning light. Narti gestured, an apology.

"I'm fine, just startled," Lotor assured her. "What happened?"

 _Something blocked us_ , Narti signed.

"One of Allura's hired magi?"

 _No idea_ , she replied. _But_ a _magi, yes._

"Call the others back from training." Lotor stood. "We need to figure out how we'll get free of this place. And keep trying to reconnect, please. We can't let—"

A rap on the door cut off his words.

"Enter," Lotor called, but the person had already pushed the doors open.

Not one of his usual guards, but one of Honerva's bland-faced lower-caste servants. "Commander Sendak requires your presence, Prince Lotor."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: removed last scene for rewrites, sorry. really not pleased with how rushed it was, so will revise and expand, and you'll see it in the next chapter. sorry!  


	19. Chapter 19

Pidge yawned. Far beneath Green, the mountain forests streaked past. Trying to pick out single objects was just making her dizzy. She remained a little curious about Green's disinterest for letting the soldiers inside, but the soldiers had all found protected pockets beneath the shield on Green's back. Hopefully it wouldn't be as bad as Lance had warned.

"Shit," Lance said. He'd gone far ahead with Blue, leading the long string of airships. "Watch out. We've got company."

Warships rose from between the mountain ridges, bearing Daibazaal colors and waving warlords' banners. The goal had been to advance to Oriande while Daibazaal was still waiting along the coast for the Altean forces. Guess that plan had failed.

Ahead, Hunk staked a claim on a warship with a blue-and-black banner.

"Alright, we're taking the one with the raised fist." Pidge twisted her wrists, pulling Green into a sharp turn.

As if from a long distance, Allura's voice relayed Pidge's words to someone else.

"Come on, girl, let's go." Pidge brought her feet up, stomping down hard.

Green landed on the warship's prow, claws sinking in.

Pidge broadcasted her voice through Green's mouth, to the soldiers beneath the shield. "Team one—wait, uh—" A twitch of her fingers and she spoke along the lions' connection. "Lance, these warships aren't empty. We send ten soldiers in, they'll be captured immediately."

"Yeah," Lance said. "Okay, just disable them. We just need to make them unable to chase us, or fire on—shit! That was close. Careful, Blue—"

Green swung around, aiming a furious electrical charge at the warship's forward cannons. Her claws dug in, peeling back the warship's exterior plating. Before Pidge could react, Green shoved her head into the hole, mouth opening.

"Green? What are you—"

Green caught a Galra soldier, crushing the man between her jaws. Blood splattered across Pidge's view. She shrieked as Green tossed the body away, and dug for another.

"Stop, stop! Don't—" A blast of images struck Pidge, leaving her speechless, head spinning. No faces, only bodies, each one within Green's chest cavity. Shattered bones, shredded muscles, blood dripping into Green's depths.

Green leapt to the next warship, shredding its armaments and sending energy blasts deep into the ship. It exploded beneath them, and Green was onto the next. Pidge pulled, pushed, kicked her feet, twisted her arms. She might as well have hung in strings, for all her actions changed Green's movements. The lion was feasting on destruction.

The images coalesced in Pidge's mind, too much like when she'd misjudged and damaged their claws in that first battle. Pidge went limp in the bindings, horrified by the thoughts tumbling through her head. Green roared, not furious but triumphant. The lion tore open the warship's bridge and blasted energy at the gathered crew. The ship caught fire and Green launched herself onto the next.

"Pidge," Hunk shouted. "What's going on? I had that one! Pay attention!"

"I'm—" Pidge shook her head, focusing on Green. _You knew my affinity would cause a backlash._

Green huffed, pleased, and went up on her hind legs to swipe at army-kites, released to pester the lions away from the airships. Its minor armament was little more than rocks against Green's exoskeleton.

"Green, _stop_!" Pidge threw her entire body into the motion, yanking Green's head back just in time. "No more—"

"Pidge? No more what?" Lance yelled. "Are you okay? Green's going crazy again, are you injured—"

"No, I'm fine, I'm—" Pidge screamed, stomping her feet flat down and yanking her fists up. It was an unexpected move, enough to startle Green.

The lion lost her balance, falling sideways off the warship. Faint shrieks came from the soldiers still huddled beneath Green's shield. Pidge pulled herself into a ball, screaming again as she pushed the bindings to their furthest points. At the same time, she took all the pain of the bindings and shoved it at Green with her full force. Green roared, caught off-guard and unable to catch herself. They plummeted down, and slammed side-down into the mountain forest. Shouts echoed through the exoskeleton, and Pidge winced, carefully uncurling from her ball.

_I_ knew _I felt blood that time._ Pidge shoved her anger at the lion. _From the backlash. And you fed off it. You hurt me! On purpose!_

Green pushed herself upright, and gave a huge shake. Her images were scattered and blurry, marked by a dark satisfaction. _To fight is to take life._ Green's voice was the rustling of dead leaves. _Must have life to fight._

"Not _my_ life," Pidge pleaded. "We're supposed to be a team."

Green scoffed, the shrug almost palpable. The lion leaned back, watching the warships overhead. One came around, cannons shifting downwards to point at Green. The lion waited, mouth open, tail lashing.

"No!" Pidge threw herself sideways, forcing Green to dodge the fire.

Green growled. The lion would get the energy she craved from the Daibazaal soldiers, or she'd take it out of Pidge. There wasn't much choice, put like that.

"The flotilla's diverting to Yalian," Hunk shouted. "Pidge! We need to slow down the pursuit—"

"Fine, I got it," Pidge snapped. "I just—"

Green leapt upwards, aiming for the nearest warship.

"No!" Pidge threw everything she had into forcing the lion away. "That's one of ours!"

Green twisted in mid-air. The lion's roar cut off as something much larger slammed into them. Another lion's roar, and enough force to send Green hurtling back down. Pidge yelped as the bindings twisted around her and jammed her shoulder. Green lay on her side, claws scrabbling at the dirt.

Blue stood over them, pinning Green to the forest floor.

 

 

 

Shiro eased up and Black swept in beneath the Rygnirathian warship, wings stretched wide. Smoke billowed across the burning houses and fields of outer Teidal, drifting up to wreath around Black. It wasn't enough to hide them from the onslaught of enemy fire. It did mask the smaller figures, sixty soldiers — with army kites — dropping from the airship to land on Black's back. They'd be sheltered between Black's wings, at least for a short duration.

Red roared, tail thrashing, as it swooped down, taking another shot meant for Black. It returned fire, a long streak of flame that engulfed the enemy warship.

_Move_ , Black said.

Shiro tightened his grip — he hoped that was the meaning of the stinging in his mostly-numb left hand — and Black dropped away from the warship.

He still had feeling in his right hand, though the ringing in his ears bothered him more. He'd been reduced to having Black relay Red's messages, since he could no longer hear Keith unless shouting was involved. The battlefield's smoke had slipped between the cracks in Black's armor, prompting coughing fits and a hoarse throat.

Black swooped and dove, avoiding the oncoming cannon fire. Red pulled in alongside, providing returning fire. Shiro took a deep breath of the sharp air and held it. He tensed his legs, pushing Black to speed up, and they dove into the thick black smoke.

Shiro's eyes stung, tears blurring his eyes. He exhaled, slowly, through his nose, trying to pace himself. Black cleared the smoke and Shiro bent over, gasping. The motion startled Black, who rolled with a growl.

_Sorry,_  Shiro told the lion. _Sorry._

Black sighed and began a slow roll, curving through the turn. Black glanced back, giving Shiro a glimpse of the army-kites diving from between Black's raised wings.

Red burst through the smoke not far behind, whipping around to release a burst of flame at a pursuing airship. Shiro smiled, heartened, reminded again of Keith's lips against his. This was a battle, between forces too evenly match. No time for distraction, but every time Red swept past, defending Black's flanks so gracefully, it felt like Keith had brushed his fingers across Shiro's. Shiro took a deep breath and turned his attention to the town below.

The town's streets were filled with Galra soldiers, fighting street-by-street against the oncoming Rygnirathian soldiers. The Alteans looked to be mostly slaves, throwing rocks and bricks.

Black cruised above, claws scraping the rooftops, head down to observe the fighting. Soldiers recoiled as the shadow flew overhead. Shiro grinned. He could spare a moment to assist the ground fighting. With a few flicks of his fingers, he aimed, and Black's lightning hit direct center of five different Galra squadrons in a rapid sequence.

_Alright, enough_ , Shiro said. _Time to get another squadron of reinforcements._

 

 

 

Lance didn't bother stopping Blue from digging her claws into Green's exoskeleton. Blue was furious, tail lashing. It wasn't enough to drown out Lance's own terror. His hands shook in the bindings, which only make Blue gouge Green even deeper.

"Soldiers," Lance shouted, through Blue's open channel. "You need to unload from Green, now!"

He pushed the idea at Blue, who settled down on her haunches, holding Green steady. The lion grumbled, a hatch opening in her chest for Green's crew. Blue's own crew reached down, pulling the soldiers free. Green roared, snapping her jaws at the fleeing soldiers.

"Control your damn lion," Lance shouted. "Pidge, come on!"

"I'm trying." Pidge's voice cracked, ending in a sob. "I can't get her to—"

Blue opened her jaws, catching Green's muzzle. With a deep growl, Blue shoved Green's face down into the dirt. Lance relaxed his hold, letting the lion do as she pleased. He had only a vague sense of what had prompted Blue to turn away from defending the fleeing warships. He wanted to be mistaken, but there were red streaks on Green's muzzle, drying into smears of brown.

Lance twitched his fingers, opening a speaking channel to the soldiers in Blue's belly. "Everyone in?"

"All clear," came back the cry.

"Alright." Lance switched back to the lions' channel. "Pidge, we've got six warships breaking away. A few more seconds they'll be in range, and they're going to start firing. You and I are going to keep them busy."

"But Green," Pidge cried.

"Green is going to destroy at least half," Lance decided, opening up a shared channel so the soldiers could hear. "Hunk, we need you to circle back."

"On my way," Hunk called.

Blue leapt into the air, and Green rolled sideways. The dirt exploded as the first warship came into range. Blue twisted flying past the warship, to the one behind it.

"The ones in the front," Lance said. "You take those, Pidge. Let Green wreck havoc. Hey, soldiers! How many of you d'ya think it'll take to commandeer one of those warships?"

The leader had an answer immediately. "Fifteen, if we can get in near the bridge. We can barricade ourselves in, and eject the Galra troops—"

"From mid-air?" Hunk shouted.

"You got a better idea?" Lance asked. He let Blue take over, admiring the way she dodged and wove between the cannonfire.

"No, but I bet Shiro does."

It took Hunk three tries to get Shiro's attention, but the question and answer was simple. Defeat was humiliation, and then Shiro went silent again.

"You don't need to kill them," Hunk said. "Just defeat them."

"It's not going to be that easy," Lance warned. "Alright, soldiers, how many groups?"

"Five groups of sixteen," came the reply. "Open the hatch and let us know when to jump."

_Awfully trusting_ , Lance told Blue, who purred.

"Alright, we're starting from the back," Lance said. "Hunk, Yellow's got the most bulk. I'm going to need you to run interference on Green."

"Say what?" Hunk sputtered. "I can barely keep track of everyone firing on me!"

"Just keep Green away from the ships at the back," Lance said.

He nudged Blue, who returned controls to him, purring. Lance tightened his grip, bringing them down in a sweeping curve. Blue landed on the last warship in the line with enough force to make the warship tilt forward steeply.

"Alright, first group," Lance hollered to the soldiers.

It felt like forever before the leader shouted to pull away. The closest Daibazaal airship maneuvered closer, its cannons fixed on Blue. She leapt, but not fast enough. Cannon fire hit her in the shoulder. Lance screamed, pain streaking down his left arm. Blue threw herself off the airship, angling down and around for the next.

Everything blurred, after that. One shot had been all it'd taken. The pain slowed Blue, and the Daibazaal warships were unafraid to fire on each other, if it meant hitting a lion. Lance grit his teeth and shoved through the agony. What mattered was that Blue hurt less, if he hurt more. He'd find a way to take it, because if she went down, they were all goners.

With all crews finally dispersed, Lance moved on, dividing the remaining warships with Hunk. Green had rampaged back and forth between five of the warships, to Hunk's obvious disgust. The lion was toying with the enemy, rather than using the killing blow. Lance found it best to not watch. It wasn't hard. He had enough on his plate, dodging fire from the last two warships.

With Hunk's help distracting each, Lance and Blue scraped enough of the plating from one of the last two warships. When the inevitable cannon fire came, Blue threw her weight sideways, rolling the warship with her. The shots hit the warship square on. Blue roared and threw herself free. With a few well-placed strikes, Blue disabled the final warship.

"Paladins," Allura called, over the shared channel. "Yellow, Green, Blue, we need you, now! Half the troops unloaded, and we had to withdraw. We're taking heavy fire."

"We lost sight of you," Lance said. "How far?"

"Pekiar's little over thirty miles, due east from you." Allura gave a muffled cry. "Please, hurry!"

"On our way," Hunk said. "Come on, Pidge."

"I'm trying!" Pidge snarled. "Okay, Green. Enough!" Pidge grunted, and Green's head snapped back.

Lance looked the other way, but not fast enough. Two broken Galra soldiers dropped from Green's mouth. Blue rumbled, disapproving. That didn't snap Green out of her temper so much as distract her with a new object of fury.

"You two, go," Lance told Hunk and Pidge. "Blue 'n me are gonna retrieve the soldiers."

Three warships had turned for home, and the Alteans soldiers had leapt free, soaring with some kind of wing-like contraptions. Not quite army kites, but it'd gotten them down. The other two warships were limping along, weapons destroyed. Lance had no idea why those groups hadn't jettisoned themselves.

Turned out they'd been waiting. Blue settled down on the airship's stern. The soldiers climbed up through the bridge's ceiling hatch, returning fire on the Galra who'd broken through the barricaded bridge. Without weapons and the engines spewing black smoke, the Daibazaal warship was left drifting as Blue took off, chest cavity full of soldiers again.

Lance grinned through the pain thrumming in his shoulder, down his arm, at his hip, and back and forth up his right leg. His left foot was completely numb, and the fingers of his left hand were useless. Fortunately Blue was fine taking over; he relaxed in the bindings and let her handle the situation as she saw fit.

They retrieved the second remaining crew, along with a few wounded. Lance was sick and tired of the rat-a-tat-tat of the Galra return fire against Blue's armor. It didn't hurt much, compared to everything else. It was mostly just annoying.

The leaders called the all-clear and Blue took off.

"Heading to the next battlefield," Lance told the soldiers, filling them in. "Get ready. You'll be dropping in behind Pekiar's lines."

 

 

 

Allura stood before the wall of charts, arms crossed. Martan checked his tablet and moved another set of pins. The Daibazaal warships were retreating, now that the trio of lions had disabled nearly all of them. None of the warships had a complete cannon, though their smaller artillery was intact.

"Paladins," Allura said. "Green, Yellow, Blue, come in." She frowned at the lack of answer. "Lance? Pidge? Hunk?"

A bit of concentration, and she could feel all three, either in the city or above it. Her own airship had been kept at the back, protected by two of the Altean flagships. She'd barely had visual contact on the sky battle, and none of the ground battle. If not for the lions, there was a good chance she might've been left out, entirely. As it was…

"Princess," the first Vakarian approached. "General Salla requests you have the lions return for another set of reinforcements. The ground fighting is getting desperate."

Allura gave the magi a grim smile. "As soon as—"

"We're here," Lance said. "Had to take a minute to stand on Green's head again, but it's fine, now."

"Again?" Allura sighed.

She had a suspicion about Green's behavior, but there wasn't much she could do about it, and certainly not in the middle of battle. She made a note to speak with Pidge later about the stories about Green.

"Yeah, it's all fine. We're fine." Pidge sounded too young for this. "Guess this means you want us to ferry another group?"

"Are the teams ready?" Allura asked the magi, who nodded. "Head for General Salla's squadron of ships."

"Again?" Hunk rumbled, frustrated. "More people's not going to change anything."

"When strategy doesn't win, numbers will," Allura said. "The ground troops need those reinforcements."

"We could help here," Hunk offered. "And Yellow's exhausted."

"What, you gonna drop rocks on their heads?" Lance asked. "The point is to stop the fighting, not crush everyone."

"Better than you 'n Blue drowning them," Hunk replied.

"Right, which is why you don't see me offering."

"What if I use Green's vines?" Pidge asked. "And it'd keep us out of the way…"

"Do it," Allura said. "Hunk, Lance?"

"On our way." Lance heaved a sigh. "You heard the princess, Blue."

Allura checked the board again, and moved the markers for the three lions.

Martan frowned. "What about Green?"

"Taking up position in… the city square." That felt about right. Allura pushed the pin in with a bit more force than she'd intended. "Yellow and Blue are on their way back."

"Green's pilot shouldn't be so young," Martan muttered, stepping to the side to review the charts from Teidal. Thace moved out of Martan's way, letting the man rearrange more of the troops. "At least Teidal's broken through."

"Black," Allura said, focusing on the lion.

A chill ran down her spine, and Black's rumble echoed in Allura's chest.

"Tell Shiro he needs to make the call," Allura said. "Unless Daibazaal manages to bring reinforcements, Teidal has the ground forces. I leave the choice to Shiro, but if he chooses to withdraw, let him know he has my support."

Wind whistled from a distance, rushing close. Allura stumbled backwards, disoriented.

A thousand voices whispered at once: _Good child_.

The entire warship tilted, dropping out from under Allura's feet. She fell with a scream, reaching for anything and grabbing nothing in a strangely chilly darkness. Something caught her around the shoulders, keeping her head from slamming against the floorboards. She opened her eyes to a ring of astonished faces. Martan and Thace bent over her, with the pilot and captain behind them. Coran had caught her.

"The airship! Were we hit?" Allura asked.

"We're fine, princess," Martan said. "You just screamed and fell."

"I heard—" Allura tried to sit up.

Her arms didn't have the strength. Cool air curled around her neck and settled upon her shoulders. She raised a hand, startled at the obvious shaking.

"I can stand. I just need a moment." Even her voice wavered.

"Allura," Coran said. "What did you hear? Did something happen to one of the paladins?"

"No, they're fine, I think, it's—" Allura shook her head, and the room spun again. She had to hold onto her temples to make everything hold still. "I need to catch my breath."

"Princess, if I may," Martan said, hands out.

Thace, however, simply slipped his arms beneath Allura's knees, the other arm around her shoulders, and lifted her from the floor. Allura squeaked, faintly. Her heart beat too fast for her to focus for too long.

"Coran," Thace said, nodding to the door.

Allura closed her eyes, dizzied by the movement. From far off, Lance shouted, followed by Keith. She ignored them until all other sounds were gone, and Thace had lowered her onto a softer surface. Coran got a pillow under Allura's neck, and she blinked at the room. It was the resting couch in the navigator's room.

"Princess?" Coran asked. "Let me get you some water."

"I'm fine, Coran. I just felt like… something hit me."

"You'd said you heard something," Thace prodded.

"I think I did." Allura raised her hands, distantly amused to see her fingers continuing to shake. "I was asking Black to carry a message, and I think… I think I heard the Black Lion's voice."

"The—" Coran turned from the cabinets, glass in his hand, all color drained from his face. Even the Altean marks on his cheeks looked bleached. "Are you sure?"

"I don't know who else it could've been." Allura shivered. "I feel like I've been standing on the observation balcony for an hour. So cold."

Thace found a blanket, settling it over Allura's lap, while Coran helped Allura sit up enough to drink. The water felt almost hot on her tongue, despite Coran's insistence it was chilled.

"Is it normal, for you to hear the lions?" Thace asked.

"No." Allura sighed. "I've never heard them before. My great-grandmother never mentioned talking to them directly, either."

Coran stood beside the cot, turning the empty glass in his hands. It was a nervous gesture unlike him, enough to catch Allura's attention.

"Coran? Do you know something?" Allura asked.

"Perhaps. I'm not sure," Coran hedged. He set the glass in the tray to be washed. "When I was a boy, I used to read the older chronicles. They seemed to imply some queens could hear the lions. It was the closest anyone had to a written record of the lions, since none of the paladins have ever left a journal."

Thace looked troubled at that, but Allura nodded. She'd never paid those legends much mind. The lions spoke to their paladins, who spoke to the queen. She'd never had any expectation she'd be any different.

"Those particular queens—and I believe there've only been a handful, at most—" Coran tugged on his mustache, openly nervous. "They were strategic geniuses… I know two died when the lions were released, along with the paladins."

"The rest?" Thace asked.

Coran shrugged. "It's not clear. Fell ill, or… went insane."

"Not surprised," Allura said, a hand to her temple again. Her head pounded. "If I had to hear that regularly, I'm not sure what'd be left of me."

"Please, don't do that again, princess," Coran urged.

Allura waved a hand at him. "I'm not sure I'll have a choice, if Black decides otherwise. That's not my worry." Her hand fell, too drained to make the motion any longer, but her mind continued to whirl.

How on earth could Shiro stand it, each time Black spoke? Who was he, that he could have that voice in his head so easily? Or any of them—how could any of the paladins stay sane, in the face of such overwhelming presences?

 

 

 

Keith brought Red around to stare down the Rygnirathian warship that bore General Hira's banner. He was exhausted, every muscle aching, and he desperately wanted it over. Another point-blank shot from a warship would send him down. If that shot came from so-called allies, he wouldn't hesitate to fire on them, too.

He flicked his fingers, switching to use Red's voice. "Shiro said we're to pull back."

"Shiro is not in charge of this battlefield," the airship's broadcast system blared back at him, one of the sub-commanders relaying Hira's orders. "You're to continue supporting—"

"No." Keith turned Red towards Teidal, relieved when the airship didn't shoot, after all. "Allura!"

"Keith?" Allura's voice was reedy, as if the connection was strained. "What's going on?" She listened to Keith's quick explanation with palpable annoyance. "I see," she said, when Keith fell silent. "I'll speak to her."

"Thanks." Keith doubted that would be enough, but he couldn't rouse the energy to care.

The sun beat down from overhead, rendering the town below almost flat, not a shadow anywhere. Black was a dark shape before the smoking ruins of Teidal's highest point, where the guild hall and mayor's offices had stood. Random bursts of weaponry and shouts echoed up from the town's streets. Ground forces continued to fight their way through streets, clearing out a block at a time.

Red landed beside Black, settling down for Keith to shove open the shaft-doors and leap down. He fell to the cobblestones, taking a breath before he got himself back up again. His right arm hung loose at his side, echoing the way Red favored that shoulder after taking three shots in rapid succession. Keith wrapped a hand around his elbow to keep from jostling his arm, and stumbled to Black's chest.

Black sat on its haunches, its chest well over Keith's head. Frustrated, Keith kicked Black's nearest paw.

"Shiro!" Keith yelled. "Black, where's Shiro? Lay down so I can get to Shiro!"

Black's eyes flared, and the lion lowered its head, until its muzzle was almost at Keith's chest.

Keith stood his ground. He was tempted to punch Black, to make a statement, but it'd only bruise his knuckles.

Black snorted, eyes narrowed, and lay down.

Keith ran forward, right as Black's chest opened. Shiro appeared in the opening, listing to one side, eyes closed. He fell forward, and Keith's heart nearly gave way. A leap, twisting mid-air, and Keith caught Shiro, falling with him.

They landed on the beaten dirt, Keith half under Shiro. The armor across Shiro's chest receded, curling up too slowly for Keith's comfort. He rolled onto his back, pulling Shiro over with him, pillowing Shiro's head on his chest. Black stayed over them, blocking the bright midday sun, but with it all the heat, too. Keith shivered.

"Shiro, Shiro," Keith whispered, petting Shiro's sweat-soaked hair with his one good hand. "Talk to me, wake up—"

"I'm here," Shiro said, hoarse. He coughed once. "Tell me it's done?"

"Our part is." Keith smiled. "We may get yelled at by Hira once she gets here."

"Ah." Shiro turned his head, forehead resting against Keith's neck. "I made the call. She can yell at me."

"Are you hurt?"

"My back, mostly." Shiro sighed. "Black's wings. And my throat. All that smoke. You?"

"Right arm got it the worst. Left leg from the knee, but not as bad." Keith wrapped his good arm around Shiro, and dared to kiss Shiro on the forehead. "Red says if we rest, then we'll be able to divert energy to heal the lions."

"Mmm," Shiro said. "At least it's dirt and not stone, this time."

A step—loud enough to be purposefully heard—caught Keith's attention. He couldn't get to his knife at the small of his back. Shiro twitched his hand on Keith's chest, and a sleek blade formed from Shiro's armor.

"Here," Shiro said, raising it enough for Keith to catch hold of the hilt.

"Put that down," a deeper voice said.

Startled, Keith fumbled the sword, nearly yelping when it slid out of existence. "Antok? What are you doing here?"

"That's my question, young man." Antok's bulk blocked the last bit of the sun's warmth. He wore a Daibazaal foot soldier's uniform, though he'd cast off the helmet and the upper armor. "Where are each of you hurt?"

"We're not." Keith jerked his head at the lions. "They are, and… we share it." He wrapped his good arm around Shiro again, who'd gone still. Unconscious. "We need rest."

"You need to have your head dunked in a bucket of ice water," Antok said.

A second Marmora appeared, leaning over Antok's shoulder. "I called for the medic."

"Good," Antok said. "Help me get them up."

 

 

 

Hunk stepped back from Blue and shook out his hands. The lion bent her head around to see where Hunk had repaired, and Yellow relayed Blue's appreciation. Not like Hunk couldn't tell from the audible chuffing. He patted Blue's shoulder, and headed to where Lance lay between Blue's forepaws.

"Did that help?" Hunk asked.

"Most of it." Lance pushed himself upright. He was pallid and shaky, but at least he wasn't nearly paralyzed from the pain anymore. "Where are we?"

"Just inside Pekiar's third ring," Hunk said. "Well, it's the outer ring, now, I guess."

Lance stood with a groan. "Thanks for not minding the yelling." He swung his arms. "Alright, let's go meet up with everyone."

There wasn't much left of Pekiar's original outer ring. A city along the mountain ridge, it sat halfway between Yalian and Neqal, with the Great Neqal river wreathing past the city's feet. It was stone and slate, a silvery-gray city compared to Oriande's sky-blue rooftops. Two rings above, near the peak, Allura's battle flag flew over the one intact tower.

It was also, now, one of the greenest and most overgrown places Hunk had seen in his twenty-two years. There was no place within that Green hadn't shot full of vines. Those magical plants had shoved the Galra forces back, eventually pinning them in for easy capture. Unfortunately, now that Green had created the blockades, neither Pidge nor Green had any idea how to undo them—and that meant everyone else's way was blocked, too.

Hunk climbed back into Yellow, grinning at the lion's cheerfulness. The Galra had retreated, Hunk was safe and whole, and as far as Yellow was concerned, all was right with the world. The owners of the house flattened by Yellow's happily thrashing tail might not agree, but Hunk couldn't find it in himself to be mad.

"Alright, let's go," Hunk told Yellow.

The lion leapt into the air. Blue skimmed the rooftops, leading the way. Mostly restored, though she seemed to be favoring her front right paw. Hunk would take a closer look, once he got some food and rest into him.

They landed in the open market square, settling down on either side of Green. Pidge stood before the lion, hand shading her face from the afternoon sun.

With Yellow settled, Hunk climbed down. He and Lance met Pidge in the middle. She did an odd little jog in place, then launched herself at the two of them, arms open.

"I'm so sorry," she said, hugging them close. "I'm so sorry you had to stand on Green's head. We're going to work on it, I promise."

"What was all that about?" Lance asked, as Pidge stepped back. "None of the rest of the lions are that bloodthirsty. I think. Red might be."

"I don't know." Pidge thumbed over her shoulder. "Allura's set up in the town's main hall. They've got food, too."

"Exactly what I need," Hunk said. "Lead the way."

"I've been thinking about it," Pidge said, kicking aside some rubble as she crossed the open square. "You know how that guy told us about how many paladins there've been? I'd figured Red and Green had high rates because they're smaller."

"Not as much armor," Hunk agreed.

"I don't know." Lance shrugged, going around a circle of smashed cobblestones. "Blue's not that heavily armored. She's more like a long-legged version of Green, really."

"Yeah, well, I don't think it's the armor." Pidge lowered her voice, as if worried she's be overheard. "Because Black's huge compared to the rest of us, and Black goes through paladins… well, _went_ through paladins. One after the other."

"I think Shiro's stronger than you're giving him credit for," Hunk said, nettled and not sure why. "Something tells me Black will protect him."

"Maybe." Pidge sighed.

"So what do you think it is?" Lance frowned. "Blue's not fully healed, so I'm a little distracted. Just give it to me in short words, okay?"

"I think Red and Green don't care about their pilots," Pidge said, kicking another rock with a bit more force. "I think we really are just power sources to them. Something to eat."

Hunk mulled that over. "No, I don't think that's it. No offense, but Red and Green have simpler armaments. If that were the way it worked, Blue and Yellow should be next in damage, after Black."

"Maybe it's the tactics?" Lance asked. "Y'know, that thing about how Black is always the center of the formation, with Red and Green right behind."

"I guess." Pidge sounded glum.

"Or maybe you're asking the wrong question," Lance added. "You're Vakarian."

Pidge scowled at him. "What about it?"

"You said Green is, too, right?"

"Yeah. And?"

"What makes a Vakarian respect another Vakarian?"

Hunk nodded, seeing Lance's point. "Power, right? Like those magi doing the communications."

"Not power." Emotions flitted across Pidge's face, settling into tired lines. "Not in the sense of raw power. Unless you mean willpower."

"Looks like you're up for a battle of wills with Green, then." Lance slapped Pidge on the shoulder, nearly knocking her forward. "Whoops, sorry."

Pidge elbowed Lance hard enough to send him sideways. "Whoops back at you."

"Don't make me separate you two," Hunk said, but saying it was the most he intended to do.

Lance shoved Pidge back, and Pidge tried to trip Lance. Hunk sighed and ignored both of them. He needed food and rest, in that order. After that, he'd talk to Yellow. Pidge couldn't be the first to go through this, and if Hunk could find his way into Yellow's memories again, maybe Hunk might find a clue of how—if ever—the lion had handled it, in the past.

Pidge slammed into Hunk's side, sent sideways by another blow from Lance. Hunk sighed and picked Pidge up, bodily swinging her around to set her down on his other side.

"Princess up ahead," Hunk warned. "I know acting like adults is beyond both of you, but try to at least fake it until we're in private again, would ya?"

 

 

 

Shiro knelt in the small tub and poured the bucket of water over his head. The small room was an antechamber to the room where he'd woken. The shuttered windows kept out all but a few streaks of afternoon light; from the angle, Shiro guessed it was close to late afternoon.

It was secondary compared to being clean. His back continued to throb, but the Blades who'd brought the tub had checked for Shiro, and declared there were no burns nor marks. It still stung, though, when water ran down the skin on either side of his spine.

Raised voices floated in from the other room. The door was too thick to make out the exact words, but there was no mistaking Keith's tone. A deeper voice responded. Shiro smiled as Keith shouted back, insistent. It felt like a family argument, one Keith was doing his best not to lose.

A final barked command from that deeper voice, then silence.

Water splashed down on the slate floors as Shiro climbed out of the tub. A bathing towel waited on the chair, and Shiro toweled himself off briskly. Clean clothes, another set of hand-me-downs. His first borrowed set had been whisked away; he'd have to apologize to Thace for not being able to return the clothes in good conscience.

Black's presence was distant, somnolent. Shiro sat on the chair to pull on his boots, and unbidden, an image of Keith was in his head again. Lit by firelight, eyes heavy-lidded, a pointed tongue flicking between Shiro's fingers...

Shiro shoved the image away. Too easy to lose control, and he couldn't risk that. It had been enough, just to kiss, to be able to touch, and to be touched in return. But soon Keith would want more, and Shiro wasn't ready. He had no idea how to explain. The longer he could put that off, the longer he could enjoy such stolen thoughts.

A chill warned Shiro, as Black's presence curled around him. _That child is seeking you._

_You need to be more specific,_ Shiro replied, amused. _Which child?_ Black seemed to consider everyone—including him—to be just out of apron-strings.

He stood, stomping twice to get his feet situated right in his boots, and opened the door to the main chamber. It was empty except for the unmade bed, two chairs, and a brute of a Marmora standing by the window. Shiro had been mostly out of it as the Blades had helped him to this room to rest, but he recalled being carried by a particularly large Blade, one with a jagged tail. He searched his memory for the few words he'd caught, as Black overlaid his vision with several images. So the child this time was Allura.

_What does she want?_   Shiro asked. Out loud, he said, "Hello. You're… Antok?"

"Yes." Antok turned, tail lashing around his ankles. He looked Shiro up and down, a quick glance that took in every flaw, judged each one in turn, and found Shiro acceptable, if imperfect. "A messenger came. You're to meet with the Generals."

Another image, of an unfamiliar city skyline. Shiro had to think hard to place the few landmarks. Pekiar. All the way across Altea, with Oriande in the direct path.

Shiro checked the room again. "Where's Keith?"

"Went for a walk." Antok turned back to study the view outside the window.

Shiro sighed. _Tell her we'll leave at dark_ , he told Black.

The door slammed open. Keith stood there, breathing hard, expression angry enough to make Shiro check for smoke curling from Keith's nostrils.

"Red says we _have_ to go, _now_ ," Keith declared. It sounded like words for Shiro, but Keith shouted them at Antok, instead. "The _princess_ needs us—"

"Not yet," Shiro broke in. The furniture looked intact, but he wasn't willing to bet on it staying that way, not with Antok turning with an equally thunderous expression. "We'll need to skirt Oriande, and it'll be safest between sunset and moonrise."

"You need to meet with the Generals." Antok didn't react to Shiro's statement; he was fixed on Keith's glare. "And wipe that look off your face, boy, or I'll do it for you."

Keith's jaw jutted, and he shifted his weight. Not backing down in the slightest.

Shiro stepped into the middle of the room, hands out. "I've spoken with Black. We'll meet with the generals, then we'll depart after sundown. Keith, update me. Has Red had a chance to recover?"

Keith immediately straightened up, anger dropping away. "He's still favoring his rear left leg and his tail's giving him trouble. But he says he can handle the trip."

"Good. And you?"

"Same." Keith gave Shiro a similar once-over, but his judgment seemed more favorable. His expression softened, and something akin to a smile flickered across his face. "Are you okay?"

"Better." Shiro rolled his shoulders, testing. "It may take a few more hours before Black's wings are fully restored. We can meet with the generals in the meantime, but I'd like to talk directly to Allura, first."

"I can take you to the lions," Keith said.

Shiro buried the smile, certain Keith was just glad to get away. The real question was whether Keith had even noticed the shift in Antok's reaction. The Blade had lost his disapproving glare; his shoulders had settled, and his tail curled gently, no longer thrashing in annoyance.

"Antok," Shiro said, unwilling to leave without saying more. "Thank you for your help, and the loan of the clothes."

"See to it that you take care of them," Antok growled, and turned back to the window.

Keith frowned, but Shiro tipped his head at Antok's profile, an abbreviated bow. Shiro had no doubt Antok spoke not of things but of a particular person.

"With my life," Shiro promised.

 

 

 

Allura came to her feet at the messenger's arrival. Between the medium tones and the bulky cloak draped over the floor-length tunic, it was impossible to discern the messenger's gender. The messenger pushed the cloak open enough to reveal a badge, emblazoned across the masked person's tunic. An Altean symbol, merged with the imperial crest of Daibazaal.

Chairs creaked and scraped across the stone floors as the rest of the room came to their feet as well. The three paladins were slower to stand, expressions confused. No mistaking the generals, commanders, and sub-commanders knew the meaning of that badge. Indrawn breath, bitten-off words, and a few hands went to sword hilts. Allura raised her hands for silence.

"Speak," she told the messenger.

"I parlay on behalf of Emperor Zarkon." The angular mask muffled the messenger's voice. "As husband and father to Altea, he does not wish to see it destroyed further."

"What is his demand?" Allura asked.

"We won't negotiate," General Gara hissed.

"I will hear it," Allura said, unyielding.

For the first time, it occurred to her that if her life would satisfy Honerva's vengeance, and leave Altea in peace… she'd be willing to consider. She folded her hands, refusing to let anyone see her hands shaking.

"Emperor Zarkon will grant Altea's autonomy and withdraw—"

Autonomy under whose rule? Allura let it pass.

"And forget any enmities between our peoples," the messenger said.

"That is all?" Allura could barely keep her voice from wavering. She had no time nor patience for dancing around the point. "He has no demands?"

"Only one," the messenger said. "Give him the lions."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my apologies for this story coming so slowly. Life's neither good nor bad, just entirely upside-down, now. It'll take some getting used to the changes, but I'm hoping to get back into a regular routine again. Soon. I hope. Fingers crossed.

Hunk called up his axe with a clench of his fist, and stepped forward. Lance caught Hunk by the elbow, eyes narrowed. Hunk released his hand, letting the axe go before it'd fully formed. Yellow grumbled a question, and Hunk sent reassurances.

Lance stepped closer so they stood shoulder to shoulder. Hunk frowned; Lance's move had hidden Pidge behind the two of them. He started to look back, but Lance's expression warned him.

On the dais at the head of the room, Allura drew herself up to her full height. Dressed in simple soldier leathers with that worn sword at her hip, she looked every inch the warrior queen.

"You waste my time with absurdities." Allura's voice was as cold as the grave. "Tell your lord I reject his request."

"As you wish," the messenger said, bowing briefly. Instead of stepping back, the messenger took a half-step forward.

Martan shouted a warning, lunging forward. Allura stood tall, and Hunk called up his battle-axe again, only to lose it when Pidge shoved between him and Lance.

She swung, tossing something at the messenger. A tiny spark of light on the hem of the messenger's robe, and the messenger vanished.

"What in the hells—" Martan said, stopping short.

"Pidge!" Lance yelled. "If you meant to hold him still, that was a—"

"Complete success." Pidge grinned. "It's just a lure, to make sure—"

A sudden flash of light exploded from where the messenger had been. Lance cried out, throwing up his arm. Hunk twisted to the side to shield his eyes, just as Pidge shrieked and went flying backwards.

"Pidge!" Allura yelled.

The room erupted in shouts. Lance and Allura ran to Pidge, while the two Vakarian magi rushed forward, weaving intricate knots with their hands. Hunk stared at the stone floor and knelt, placing his hands on the flagstones.

He reached down, seeking the song in the grain, until he found a break in the ancient melody. The stone chattered, annoyed by the intruder. Hunk pushed but the slate refused to budge, unwilling to tangle with the Vakarian using the stone as a hiding place.

 _Yellow, help me out here,_ Hunk called. _How's your rapport with slate?_

The lion chuffed, amused, and curled its presence around Hunk to follow the trail into the stone. A moment later, the flagstones buckled, sending several commanders back-pedaling in surprise. Hunk threw his persuasion in with Yellow. The stones moved sluggishly, crushing the messenger. Hunk pulled at the faint traces of mica, directing them to pierce, countless pinpricks that locked the messenger within the stone.

The flagstones uncurled, broken but flat again. The two magi stared at the space, hands frozen, jaws falling open in shock. When they stepped back, giving the commanders a confused look, the room broke into arguments. Some wanted to tear up the floor, while others cornered the magi, demanding answers.

Hunk stood, wiped off his hands, and joined Lance and Allura, who huddled over Pidge.

"Is she okay?" Hunk asked.

"Hit her head on the wall," Allura said. "Didn't break her skull, but it was a close one."

"Going to have a headache the size of Thayserix," Lance said.

"I'm gonna have one myself, with all the yelling going on," Hunk said. "Can we move her?"

"To my quarters," Allura said. "This way. Lance, please fetch me Radala? She knows how to deal with these kinds of wounds."

"On it." Lance saluted and was gone.

With Allura's help, Hunk picked up Pidge, her head cradled on his shoulder. Blood dripped down her neck, and she moaned.

"Pidge?" Hunk asked. "Stay with us."

"Lure word bettah than 'spected," Pidge slurred.

"Don't pass out," Allura said, shaking Pidge gently. She hurried ahead, skirting three arguing commanders to open a side-door for Hunk. "Down the hall, second door on the left. I'll get Coran."

 

 

 

Lotor paced the length of his assigned quarters in Sendak's warship. With his father's departure to the battlefield, Lotor had been cut off from all news of Altea. Narti was the only one who could carry a message, if she could break through whatever barrier had been laid down.

Narti perched on the edge of Lotor's bed, head down, hands flat against her thighs. Zethrid and Ezor were silent bookends, their hands on Narti's shoulders, holding her up and lending strength. Axca hovered nearby, lower lip caught between her teeth, a rare sign of her agitation.

Lotor checked the windows again. Nothing but the sharp chill of salt air, and endless rolling waves beneath. Sendak's pilot had cut across the inland sea, and that meant no landmarks. They could miss Altea altogether and land in Reiphod, and Lotor would have no way of knowing until it was too late.

Narti inhaled, sharply, and Lotor turned, waiting. Even devoid of eyes or nose, her feelings were an open book to Lotor, after so many years together. She ached with the effort, but she wasn't at her limit. The set of her shoulders, the tension in her fingers, and the slight crease to her ear-bumps signaled her determination.

Still, as much as he wanted to get a message to Allura, he wasn't willing to risk Narti's mind. He stopped beside Axca, giving her a pointed look.

Axca shook her head, mouthing a simple message. _Not yet._

He supposed if Axca was willing to wait, it meant Narti wasn't in danger, yet. No one kept a better eye on everyone's limits than Axca.

"Lotor!" Ezor whispered.

In one long stride, Lotor was before Narti, going down on his knees before her. He caught her hands, placing them on his cheeks and closing his eyes. Her hands—dry, scaled, but tender—slid up to press fingertips against his temples.

 _Allura_? Lotor reached out across the connection Narti had laid.

 _Cousin_? Allura's voice was faint, but clear. _Where are you? Is everyone alright_?

 _We're on our way to Altea._ Lotor let doubt tinge his mental words. _We're traveling under Sendak's banner._

 _Sendak,_ Allura said, annoyance mingled with worry. _What's going on?_

 _He wants me to meet with the ministers in Oriande._ Lotor settled on down, letting his hands rest on Narti's knees. The effort of reaching dizzed him; he'd never quite grown comfortable with it, not for any extended duration. _I'm sorry, but… I have the royal regalia. He wants me to claim the throne._

 _The regalia_. Allura sighed. _Your mother_?

_Yes._

_I see._ The pause was quintessentially Allura, a straightening of her shoulders. _And what do_ you _want_? _Are you in agreement_?

 _I would never agree to something that sets us at odds,_ Lotor protested. _No title is worth losing your friendship_.

Allura's smile was silent, but he could feel it, all the same.

 _I'd like to excavate the caverns beneath the castle_. Lotor smiled in return, knowing her response but saying it anyway. _Centuries of history, forgotten_ —

 _Not entirely_ , Allura cut in. _In fact, I've found someone who might be able to tell you what lies down there._ She switched back to the topic at hand. _I suppose your father knew his first attempt wouldn't work._

_What did he do?_

_He offered me Altea in exchange for the lions._ Her tone was bitter, but under that, frightened.

Lotor's blood ran cold. _Please tell me you didn't accept._

_Of course not. That'd be signing the death warrant of five—_

_Allura!_ Lotor knew exactly where her mind was going. _Don't tell me you offered yourself, instead._

_I wasn't given the opportunity. But… I think I would, if it brought peace to Altea. Then you could inherit freely—_

_Not at that cost, Allura._ Never _at that cost._

 _Fine._ Allura relented, falling silent; her attention felt turned away. _Present to the ministers in Oriande. Make sure you extend the same offer to the forces currently holding Teidal._

 _If they accept, it'll divide your forces,_ Lotor warned _. My mother's claim renders yours illegitimate. The choice could tear Altea apart._

 _I have my reasons,_ Allura said, voice stronger. Either they were getting closer, or the past few moons had forced Allura to start tapping the incredible strength Lotor had always known she'd had.

 _Please make sure they're good reasons_ , Lotor replied. _Once they swear allegiance, I doubt I'll have much say in anything._ _I'm nothing but a pawn in my parents' maneuvering._

 _As are we all,_ Allura's tone turned crisp. _Perhaps it's time to give thought to that. I know what you've gone through, but you are more than the last item on their list of possessions._

_They're my parents._

_But you are more than their child. I think I know what Sendak intends, and you going along will suit my purposes. For now, at least. But there will come a time when you must choose._

_I know._ Lotor couldn't hold back a last plaintive request. _Whatever happens, know that I never want to see you harmed._

 _Don't worry about me, cousin._ Allura sounded strangely satisfied. _I'm the one with the big mystical lions, remember?_

 _And I'm the one with the regalia._ Lotor smiled. _I'll do my best to use it completely wrong, if it comes to that. But be ready._

_We will. Be safe, all of you. You have to be. There's someone here who knows the caverns you've been waiting years to explore, after all._

 

 

 

Allura broke the connection and opened her eyes to Coran's and Thace's anxious expressions. She smiled, slumping against the sofa arm. Pidge lay in a daze on the bed assigned to Allura, half-awake; Lance dozed at the foot of the bed, chin down.

"What's happening?" Coran asked. "Princess?"

"Lotor's on his way to Oriande. I'll tell you the rest, once I get rid of this headache." Allura gave Thace a worried look. "But… you were right about Sendak's plans. I can only hope you were right about the rest, too."

 

 

 

Shiro planted his feet, arms crossed. "I understand your position, but I take my orders from the Princess Allura," he told Hira and the gathered commanders.

"She is not on this battlefield," Ranin thundered. Broad-shouldered and a half-head shorter than Shiro, Ranin had the lungs of a man three times his size. "We've only just secured Teidal."

"It's bad enough you abandoned the field," Commander Dikata added, sharply. "Leaving now is dereliction of your duty—"

From outside Teidal's guildhall, Black roared. The building shuddered, dust drifting down from the slate roof over their heads. Neither Shiro nor Keith moved; the only other person apparently unbothered by Black's irritation was Hira. The two commanders and three sub-commanders flinched. The six leaders of Teidal's resistance—such as it was—looked torn between cheering and hiding.

"There was no abandonment," Shiro retorted. "I assessed the Teidal resistance as having the situation under control, and chose to withdraw the lions. They may be machines, but their pilots are not. We _do_ require rest."

"I will have you court-martialed," Ranin shouted, crossing the distance to Shiro with his hand out. Open-palmed, fingers curled.

Shiro dropped his arms, ready to block the man's punch, but Ranin's hand remained open, reaching for Shiro's collar. Shiro stepped back and Ranin lunged, catching Shiro's tunic collar and yanking him forward.

In the blink of an eye, Keith's blade was at Ranin's neck.

Shiro put a hand on Keith's shoulder. Murdering a commander, no matter the reason, would not be tolerated. Keith scowled at Shiro's touch, and didn't lower his blade.

"Unhand Commander Shiro," Keith snarled.

"Commander?" Ranin guffawed. An odd reaction, given he'd respected—and used—the title numerous times during the battle. "Him?" Ranin released Shiro's tunic with a shove. "He's no commander. He's nothing but _chattel_."

Four of the Teidal leaders exchanged looks, and two reached for their own necks. Shiro had promised them freedom for persuading their people to help. He'd said nothing of sharing their status. From the doubts now appearing, he'd been right. They wouldn't have listened, if they'd known he hadn't the authority.

Shiro focused on the shifting reactions of the commanders arranged in a loose semi-circle around him. He balanced his weight, ready to spin to put himself at Keith's back. Before he could move, Keith pulled back his blade, tossing it to his other hand—and punched Ranin square in the face.

"Keith!" Shiro said, startled.

"You dare," Dikata shouted, hand going to the knives at her hip. "You'll pay for—"

"Stand _down_ ," Hira ordered, hand raised. The gathered military, too well-trained, were brought up short by the command in Hira's voice. "While their military discipline is sorely lacking, they remain paladins—"

"That's easily remedied, General," Ranin spat. "We cannot let the good name of Altea be—"

Shiro straightened his tunic, bracing himself against Black's rising fury. The guildhall shook once, then harder, as Black neared. Outside the shuttered windows, guards screamed, and then the only sound was Black's roar. Even Keith fell back, hands over his ears. It was no less deafening for Shiro, but he'd had warning.

 _That's enough_ , Shiro told Black. _You made your point._

Black sent multiple images of crushed buildings and burnt towns, mixed with a dismissive snarl. A third earth-shaking thump, and Black sat back on its haunches.

Gradually the guildhall fell silent, all but Shiro and Hira lowering their arms and looking around, worried. A few crawled out from where they'd hidden under the tables.

The door swung open, and a new Vakarian hurried forward, handing Hira a written message. She unrolled the parchment, glancing over the short message, and handed it back. Shiro kept his expression uncaring only through years of practice. Someday that would be him, too, reading so quickly and easily. Someday, if he survived this.

Hira gave Shiro a tight nod, with a quick glance at Keith.

"Get to Red," Shiro told Keith. "I'll be right behind you."

Keith frowned. Black's roar may've startled Keith, but it hadn't stopped him from bristling at the other commanders. He darted a suspicious look at Hira and ran from the guildhall.

Some small relief that the arrayed commanders ignored Keith's departure. Ranin may've had issue with Shiro's status, but Keith's behavior was to be expected from a second-in-command. If anything, there was some begrudging respect; Shiro remained the sole focus of their ire.

"Go, then," Hira told Shiro. "The princess demands you appear before her." She stepped closer, voice lowered. "Do not think to free other chattel again. You haven't the right. The princess may call you commander, but you remain dekan in _my_ army."

Shiro nodded, a too-abbreviated bow, turned on his heel, and left. There was nothing he could say. Hira would always see him—and any others who wore a collar—as less. The Altean aristocrats would never give away their power. It was up to slaves to take it.

Too many had been terrorized, life-long, by the consequences of such taking. Now that Black could hold the line, terror would become anger. Oddly, Shiro couldn't bring himself to want the utter destruction of everything Altean. He just wanted life to be fair and just, for others, the way it would never be for him.

Shiro halted on the cobblestones outside the guildhall, faintly amused by the wide berth everyone was giving Black.

 _You scared them_ , Shiro teased.

 _Not all_ , Black rumbled, but didn't explain. A series of images: the open plains and high mountain ranges of Altea, silver-edges doubled by both moons.

 _We leave now_ , Shiro said, climbing up Black's shoulder-armor to settle into the pocket. _We need to be past Oriande's outskirts before the moons rise._

 

 

 

Pidge sat up with a groan, one hand to her head. The room was gone, darkness in every direction. She sat in a pool of light, on a bed made of ivy that rippled around her. Pidge set down her hand, and the ivy swirled around her wrist like a greeting.

"How hard did I hit my head?" Pidge asked the ivy.

"You cracked your skull," a voice said.

Pidge squinted into the darkness. Ivy grew upwards, reaching far over her head, a canopy of vines. A shape sat in the bower, opposite. Less of a person and more of an absence, the outlines formed by where the ivy didn't tread.

"Easy enough to fix, once everyone got out of my way," the voice added, with a hint of annoyance.

"Thanks?" Pidge felt at the back of her head. No blood, no wound, not even an ache. "I didn't expect a backlash that severe."

"It wasn't a backlash, it was a full-on strike."

"Same diff—"

"How have you lived this long?" Green shifted among the vines, which curled back as though Green had thrown her hands in the air. "Were you thrown out of school still in leading strings?"

"What? No! I graduated top of my class," Pidge retorted. "Ten years of training—"

"Ten years?" Green laughed, shaking the ivy. "No wonder you can't tell the difference between a backlash and a frontal assault. I never should've let you put lures on my claws, after all."

"Hey!" Pidge scrambled to her feet. "You could've said something sooner, but you didn't."

"Of course not. Then I wouldn't get to find out what'd happen."

"You—" Pidge threw her hands up. "Where am I, anyway? You're worse than my cousins."

"Don't insult me," Green replied, indignant. "I'm centuries older."

"Then act like it," Pidge snapped. "Or did the years addle your brains to forget you're on a team?"

"Not one I wanted!" The ivy parted, gathering again around Green's standing shape. Taller than Pidge, not much wider. "I figured, I could at least protect my people. Until there were none left, so why bother."

"None left?"

The ivy rustled, and Pidge reached out, catching one of the leaves. A memory sparked in her head. Pidge trailed her fingers down the vine, collecting and sorting the images. She moved around Green's darkness, brushing her fingers over the nearest leaves.

"What are you doing?" Green asked.

"I haven't spent a lot of time with plants," Pidge said. "What did you mean, you could _at least_ protect your people?"

More images filtered in. She sorted them based on focus, feel, background, and the wisps of meaning that came with each. Not a complete picture, yet.

"If I tell you, will you go away and leave me alone?" Green asked.

"Did you forget the part where we're bonded?"

Green laughed, a cruel sound. "Easy enough to fix."

"I'm your people," Pidge reminded her.

It took everything she had to keep her tone light, her body language unintimidated. They might share a bond, but Green was as much in the dark about Pidge's thoughts, as the reverse.

"I have no people." Green sighed, and the ivy parted.

The shadow moved into the darkness, leaving the vines hanging around Pidge, empty of an imposed shape. Annoyed, Pidge grabbed a hank of the nearest vines and yanked, hard. The leaves tore off in her hands, and Green's presence came shrieking back, furious.

"Don't just go wrecking everything," Green shouted in Pidge's ear.

"Then tell me what you meant by _at least_." Pidge caught hold of another handful of vines. She hadn't had twenty years of schooling, but she'd been a younger sister. She knew how to play dirty. "Tell me, or I tear this place apart."

"Don't you—" Green shrieked as three more leaves were torn free. "That _hurts_ , damn you!"

"I'm glad," Pidge shouted back. "Now you have some idea of what it's like to have your own lion treating you like a _sandwich_!"

All movement stopped, but Pidge could sense Green standing close by, frozen in place. Pidge twitched, uncertain, and let her hands drop from the vines. She brushed a few more leaves as she did, catching up the quick images and arranging them in her mental collection.

"What's a sandwich?" Green asked.

Startled, Pidge didn't even think to be sarcastic. "It's a meal."

"Is that a Pavonian thing? Blue's never mentioned that before."

Blue was Pavonian? Pidge filed that away, too. "It's meat, eaten between two pieces of bread."

"Did I know that already?" Green mused, quietly. "It doesn't seem like something I wouldn't want to remember."

From what Pidge had gathered from the ivy, there were a lot of things Green would rather not remember. Had the other lions also stored their memories, sealing them away, like Green? Or was Green the only one with the knowledge or need? Pidge collected a few more memories, placing them by location and paladin and time. Piece by piece, she sorted each memory like with like. Pidge riffled through the puzzle piece memories, startled as they fell into a general shape. 

Beginning. Middle. And a devastating end.

Pidge recoiled from the images and lost her balance, crashing down into the ivy. Memories flooded into her, swirling too fast. Pidge fell, and kept falling.

Green had fought proudly, one among equals. Until a time the lions had slept longer than ever before, and Green had woken to find none of her potential paladins were Vakarian. She'd refused all of them, tearing off to search on her own. Through the streets of Oriande, chased by soldiers, Green stuck her snout in alleyways, chased down every scent, until she found her people: huddled in filthy, bug-infested, hovels, iron collars around their necks.

Pidge reached out to grab hold of the vines, and the pain shot through her body. Her fingers were crushed, every bone broken to her wrist. Blood splattered on the vines. Pidge fell, hands clutched to her chest, screaming.

The rising Altean aristocrat class had broken the spirits of their Vakarian citizens. Marking them as separate, dangerous, herding them into prisons to starve to death. The only chance at freedom was an oath of allegiance to Altea, and it came with the destruction of both hands.

Within three generations, not a single Altean-Vakarian knew any casts. Those that did were too terrified to teach it to their children. A life without magic was preferable to a life of pain.

Pidge slammed into a tangle of vines. Darkness around her, except for the vines holding her. She thrashed, lost in Green's memories of raging through Oriande's streets and market squares. Until Yellow pinned her down and Black forced her to see the price being paid.

The Queen had ordered each rejected paladin put to death. For every rejection, Green was consigning an innocent foreigner to death. Grieving and angry, Green didn't care. But Yellow and Blue did, and between them, they forced Green to a standstill, begging her to relent.

Pidge curled up in the darkness, bloody broken fingers over her head, and wept.

 

 

 

Lance stared up at Brother Moon, a slim halo over a distant mountain peak. Blue stood proud against the darkness, eyes gleaming in welcome.

"Hey, girl," Lance said, scaling Blue's armor to land in the pocket. With a nudge, he slid within, settling down.

Blue rumbled at him, a question.

"Relax," Lance said. "I just need to talk to Keith or Shiro. Not dealing with those Vakarians."

They'd sworn they'd fixed Pidge's injury, but since then she'd lain too still, too pale. Lance had nothing more than gut instinct to go on, but if there was anyone who'd be able to fix things, it'd be Black. Somehow.

Blue huffed, uneasily. Images of Green, flashing by so fast Lance felt dizzy. When Blue stopped, the meaning was clear. Green had withdrawn to grieve.

"Do what? Why?" Lance asked, heart in his throat. "Talk to me. What's happening?" In the private spaces of his own mind that he didn't share with Blue, he stretched out his hands to his ancestors, for the first in too long.

_Please don't let Pidge die._

She was annoying, and knew far too much, and was damn scary at times. But she was brilliant, funny, and heartfelt beneath her sarcasm. Lance had never had a little sister, but if anyone came close, it was Pidge. It was too soon to lose her, or any of his team.

Blue purred, reassuring, but the sensation was hollow.

A current of uneasiness remained, unsettling Lance. He prodded at the lion.

Blue sighed. _Green is remembering._

"Is Green upset at what she's remembering, or are you upset that she's remembering?" Lance asked, skeptical. For whatever reason, Blue considered 'remembering' to be tantamount to being fitted for new clothes, or doing dishes, or some other onerous chore.

Blue chuffed, amused.

"Fine, fine, just… keep an eye on Green, let me know if anything happens."

Lance took a deep breath and concentrated. First on Keith, since Shiro might still be recovering from whatever had rendered him deaf or silent most of the day.

"I'm here," Keith said. "We're about halfway to Pekiar."

"What, by way of Rygnirath? What's taking you so long?"

"We had a few detours. We'll be there by dawn. I told the Princess that, already."

Allura had reached out to Keith or Shiro, and reported they were on their way, but she'd been almost sheet-white from the effort. Lance had no real point of comparison. It just didn't seem right that such a simple conversation could've done that to her. She'd stayed awake long enough to hear the Vakarians declaring Pidge fine, and passed out shortly after.

"Dawn?" Lance scratched his head, and Blue's paw came up with the motion. "Sorry, girl."

Blue chuffed again.

"You were supposed to be here already," Lance told Keith. "What detours are you talking about?"

"Places Black remembers," Keith explained. "Porinte, Kalal, Zeqiand. And a few others that are new."

"Why? Did that Hira give you additional orders?"

"Those towns needed the Galra airships taken out, too. And…" The shrug was evident in the way Keith trailed off.

"And what?"

"We might've encouraged the slaves to fight back against the invaders, too." Keith sounded darkly pleased.

"You're doing midnight marauding and raising the rebellion at the same time?" Lance laughed. "Okay, points to you for that, but… seriously, slaves? They've got no training." No more than Lance had had, the first time he'd stood beside Blue. He'd learned. They would, too, and they had a lifetime of more reasons than him.

"They have numbers on their side," Keith retorted. "They just needed weapons and the will to fight."

"And maybe a promise of their freedom, for doing so?" Lance realized the intent. Hopefully Hira would blame those two, and leave Lance out of it.

"We might've torn the roof off a few armories, too." Keith chuckled, a short barking sound. "Accidentally."

"Yeah, well, stop with the accidents. We need you _here_ , as soon as you can."

"What?" Shiro asked, breaking into the conversation. "What's going on?"

"Pidge got hurt," Lance explained. "The magi _say_ they fixed her, but she isn't waking up. And now Green's upset and refusing to tell Blue or Yellow what's going on."

Blue grumbled.

 _Now you're just being petty_ , Lance retorted.

"Understood," Shiro said. "We'll be there before the lesser moon rises."

"Almost done here," Keith replied. A moment later, he added, "On my way."

"Hurry," Lance said. "Something is really wrong, and I think Black's the only one who can fix this."

 

 

 

Pidge couldn't breathe. Ivy twisted around her, tightening with every breath. Tendrils knotted around her throat, leaves pressing into her skin. Her rational mind knew the lions had been called to war twelve times, a total of not quite two hundred years. Green's memories felt like ten thousand years.

The smoke of the battlefield stung Pidge's nostrils and made her eyes water. Her mouth tasted the coppery-iron tang of blood, and every part of her body was struck, cut, scarred with endless injuries. There were flashes of joy, bright spots, far too few against the endless years of warfare, battles, sieges.

Pidge thrashed in the vines. She couldn't hear anything but snatches of sound buried in each memory. Other black paladins, issuing orders. Yellow's roar, Blue's growl. Red paladins, surging ahead, struck down, dying beside Green.

Technology had advanced, too, leaving the lions struggling against more powerful and larger foes. From landships to airships, from simple tanka to noble tanka, from incendiary bombs that Green shook off without thought to quintessence-charged cannon fire that knocked Green down and ached for days.

Forty-two green paladins had died in battle. Burnt, torn limb from limb, sliced open. Their memories mingled with Green's, and the ivy pressed against Pidge's skin. The light was gone. Pidge curled up in a ball in the darkness, hands to her head, forced to relive each death.

 _Please_ , she begged. _Make it stop. Please. Make it stop._

 

 

 

Shiro brought Black down in the courtyard before Pekiar's guildhall. Allura stood alone before the building, a lamp raised to light her features. When Shiro stepped down from Black, Allura waved him forward.

"We're losing her," Allura said, leading him through the dark great hall and up a flight of stone stairs. She filled him in on what had happened, ending with a sigh as they reached a solid wooden door in a narrow hallway, on the top floor. "I'm not sure my idea will work."

Keith's running footsteps sounded behind them, joined by Lance, who'd taken a break to sit with Blue. Matt and Hunk waited in the lord's quarters that had been given over to Allura. Two lamps lit the room with a dim glow, revealing a startling tableau.

Pidge was curled in a tight ball, hands over her ears. Matt had propped her up to sit between his legs, and he pulled at her hands ineffectually. Hunk mirrored Matt, encircling Pidge and calling her name softly. Except for the rigor in her muscles, she could've been utterly comatose for all the reaction she showed.

Shiro took a deep breath. Black had said nothing, but a strange awareness filtered into Shiro's mind. It wasn't Black's doing. It was something from his own childhood, a similar kind of distress. This was nothing he'd ever have done before strangers, it was the only way he could see to make Allura's idea work.

"Hunk, Matt," Shiro said. "Could you set her down on the floor, here? We'll need space around her."

Shiro knelt on the rug in the center of the room, glad of the thickness beneath his knees. He closed his eyes, counting his breaths, and mentally whispered the greetings to his ancestors.

 _Father, Mother. Grandmother, Grandfather, Aunts, Uncles…_ Additional names and faces flitted through Shiro's mind, all the ones he'd forgotten over the years. He didn't have the energy to spare the curiosity; he added them to the litany. _Forgive me. I know I'm a ungrateful child to request your assistance and offer nothing in return._

Movement around him, as he finished his prayer, and Shiro opened his eyes to see Pidge before him. She hadn't moved; she didn't look like she'd even registered Hunk carrying her. Hunk stayed behind Pidge, supporting her, and Lance joined him. Keith settled in on Shiro's side, eyes wide.

When Shiro gave Keith a quick reassuring smile, Keith's brows knitted. Less worried about Pidge and more concerned for Shiro, then. Allura took the open space on Shiro's other side, jaw set in a hard line.

"How do we do this?" Lance asked.

"What are we doing?" Keith asked.

Shiro rolled his neck, wincing at the crack. He was stiff from too many hours in Black's chest. He shook out his hands, and scooted forward until Pidge was curled between his thighs. Her skin was cold, almost clammy. Her face was contorted in pain, eyes squeezed shut.

"I'm connected to all the lions," Allura said. "But I can't break through, if I'm not welcome. Black can, if I can create the connection."

"With the lions, sure," Hunk said. "But this is Pidge, not Green."

Lance elbowed Hunk, who shrugged.

Shiro took a deep breath and set his hands over Pidge's. Gently, lightly, until his larger hands covered her smaller ones. Allura put one hand on Shiro's shoulder, the other on his leg. A moment later, Keith did the same, mirroring her.

 _Black_ , Shiro said. _Help me._

The darkness behind his eyelids exploded into light. Shiro hung suspended, one light among thousands. Each a star, a beacon fire, spinning in infinity. Awed, Shiro twisted around, tracing the arcs of each star's rotation, all of them—and him, too—pulled in concert along unseen paths in the pull of some larger, hidden, central force.

 _Ancestors_? Shiro asked, uncertain.

A new presence joined him. Black's chill slid along Shiro's skin, a brush of black velvet fur. Shiro leaned into the touch, knowing if he looked back, he'd see Black behind him.

 _Concentrate, child_. Black's voice echoed more, in the vast space. Instead of Black's usual growl, here the sound felt like a thousand whispers brushing Shiro's soul.

A thin silver cord wound its way between the drifting stars. Shiro put out a hand, catching the end of the cord. It pulsed against his fingers, a strong heartbeat, as steady as Allura herself. Shiro tugged. The silver cord neither stretched nor gave way. Shiro put both hands on the cord and yanked, hard.

Space rushed around him, receding as much as he moved forward, drawn into whatever lay on the other end of the cord. Darkness lay ahead, and Shiro had no warning when he slammed into a barrier. It hit him full-force, knocking the breath from him. The cord slipped from his grasp and he lunged, catching it.

 _Steady_ , Black whispered.

Black was a creature of starlight and constellations again, a warmth of velvet over muscle and bone. No longer towering over Shiro's head, but still dwarfing him, much as Shiro's parents once had. Black's leathery wings rustled, claws clicking together as Black coiled.

Shiro backed up to stand by Black's flank, one hand buried in the luxuriant fur. Shiro knew he wasn't a child to need Black's tail coiling around Shiro's waist, steadying his steps, but it was a touch he'd missed for far too long, even if his mind retreated from the implications.

Black reared upwards with a roar, wings flaring wide. Despite the vast darkness around them, Black's roar reverberated, filling the emptiness. The sound washed across Shiro in waves, pummeling at him, as Black continued to roar, clawing through the barrier.

Again and again, tearing at the barrier, Black called out in anger, worry, entreaty. Not a parent's cry to a child, but a protective elder sibling to a younger. Sweat dripped down Shiro's forehead, and the silver cord flickered, stinging against his palms. His vision doubled, heat filling him at his shoulders and legs where he remained grounded in that other place.

The darkness cracked, a vertical seam. Faint moonlight trickled out, outlining Black in cold silver. Shiro stared, dumbfounded, at Black's changed shape. Before he could formulate a question, Black's tail nudged him forward.

"Wait, I—" Shiro fell head first into the seam, slipping through, pulled by the cord.

Instantly the world changed, from the chill of a mountain peak to the cool damp of a forest. If Black's interior had a sepulcher nobility, Green's held life among its shadows.

Leaves crunched under Shiro's feet, and vines caught at his shoulders. The air was heavy with the dank scent of loam, and Shiro felt more than heard something moving beyond the thin thread of silver showing him the way. He shoved through the undergrowth, blindly following the silver cord.

Black's presence remained with him, little more than a sensation of night air against his cheeks. The overpowering echoes were gone, too, muffled by the thick vines. A wind rushed through treetops far over Shiro's head; wood creaked and branches murmured.

"Pidge?" Shiro called. "Pidge? Yell for me, let me know you're there."

Faint whispers came from the edges of his awareness. Lance's voice, then Keith's, and last came Allura, shushing them.

"Hurry," she whispered to Shiro. "Her heart rate's dropping."

"I'm trying," Shiro said, not sure anyone could hear him. "I can't get through if I hold on like this. Allura, I need you to strengthen the connection. Just for a little bit."

The silver cord faded in his hands, then flared up, blinding him momentarily. Shiro squinted against the glare, loathe to drop the cord entirely. He tugged, playing out a bit of the length, weighing his options.

He had no belt, and he didn't have enough play in the cord to tie it around his waist. He needed his hands, so around his wrist wouldn't work. Shiro fished out his family pendant from under his tunic. The tarnished metal glowed like the silver cord, a fitting similarity. It tied him to his own people, as much as the silver cord tied him to Pidge. Shiro wound the cord around his pendant, forcing it to knot, pressed between his palms.

When he let go, the silver cord led from his heart outward. Pidge's cord glowed, calling attention to itself; a second, fainter, cord glowed like embers, leading in another direction. And several more glittered, each as fine as a hair or a single strand of silk. As long as Pidge's cord was secure and strong, the rest could wait. 

Shiro caught handfuls of the vines, ripping them free. A shiver ran through him, an anguished cry shaking down the vines into him. Shiro set his jaw and kept going, limiting the damage to only what he needed to get through.

His fingernails lengthened, curving into hard claws, razor-sharp and as long as his fingers. A sweep of his hands and the vines parted, cut apart. One step, then another, until Shiro was pressing forward, inexorably. Ahead lay a golden glow, shrouded by the undergrowth.

A final slash parted the remaining vines. Shiro stood in a small bower, light coming from nowhere and everywhere, the obscurity of twilight. The silver cord's end hung in mid-air.

"Pidge?' Shiro called. "Where are you?"

Vines writhed at his feet, the ground roiling beneath him. Shiro dropped to his knees and dug, ripping and cutting at the vines. He plunged one hand down into the darkness, almost up to his shoulder, feeling through the tangles. 

His claws swept over hair. Shiro grunted, forcing his hand into a fist. The claws cut into his skin, a sharp piercing pain, then faded. He flexed his fingers and pushed into the ground further, searching. His fingers brushed skin: a cheek, an ear. Shiro caught a tangle of vines for leverage with his other hand, and shoved himself deeper into the depths. Among the roots, his other hand followed the line of Pidge's jaw and neck, to her shoulder. Shiro caught hold of Pidge's arm and pulled.

The roots held Pidge secure. Shiro grit his teeth, groaning from the strain. If the roots didn't give way, his only choice would be to cut her out, but that would mean losing his last hold in this strange place. He had no idea if he'd end up trapped with her, but he couldn't risk it. The roots caught on Shiro's arm, twisting around his wrist, prying at his fingers.

He pulled harder, getting one foot up for leverage. Every muscle taut, Shiro cried out, refusing to let go. Pidge hung limp in his grip, as he slowly dragged her upwards. The roots clung to Pidge, pulling her down. Shiro gathered the last of his strength and heaved with everything he had. 

The ground broke open, releasing Pidge. Shiro fell back among the ivy, Pidge sprawled across his chest.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well, my sincerest apologies. that was quite an unplanned hiatus. here's to not letting it go for so long again. this still feels kinda rough 'cause it's *koff* been awhile, so it might take a chapter to get the right voice again. sorry, and I'll do my best to not make everyone wait so long again.

Pidge lay limp across a warm body. All around her, the ivy writhed, drawing together and relaxing with a shudder. In the strange twilight of Green's interior space, Shiro was the last person Pidge had expected to see. She blinked at him owlishly.

"Pidge," Shiro said, pushing her upright. "Are you hurt?"

One hard swallow, then another. Her throat worked and no sound came out.

"Think it at me," Shiro said.

 _I'm okay, now_ , Pidge murmured, in her head. _Everything hurt, but like in dreams. Or nightmares._

"We have to get back, now," Shiro said. "We've been here too long. Your body—"

Pidge ignored him, fascinated by the silver cord hanging between them. It ran from her chest to a beaten-metal pendant hanging around Shiro's neck. She caught hold of the cord with her fingers, startled to find it had weight and presence in this uneasy space.

 _Allura_ , Pidge said. _Why does this feel like Allura?_

"It's her connection to you." Shiro shifted to a crouch, hands on Pidge's elbows, ready to hoist her to her feet. "We have to go."

 _I'm afraid I'll forget._ Pidge grasped the cord, hoping her message got through. _Remember this for me._ She took everything she'd seen in Green's ivy, pieced together as best she could, and poured it into the silver cord.

Time dilated, freezing Shiro's expression. Almost two hundred years of experience passed from Pidge into the silver cord. Some remained with her, scarred too deep already to be forgotten. The rest faded like mist.

The cord snapped taut, startling a yelp out of Pidge. The cord shattered, glittering shards fading into nothingness. Shiro's head jerked up, as if he heard voices in the distance.

"Pidge, come on," he said, helping her to her feet. "This way—"

"Not the way I came," Pidge squeaked out. She coughed, embarrassed.

"This path will get us back," Shiro said.

"Are you sure? It doesn't—" Pidge broke off as the darkness formed a shape, behind Shiro.

It was no lion. It towered over Shiro, larger than a Galran warhorse. Horned like a stag, eyes glowing like a tiger's in the underbrush, as inky black as a moonless night. Pidge stumbled backwards, fighting the urge to cower. The creature's gaze showed no malevolence, only a ruthless disdain.

"Pidge? What's wrong?" Shiro asked.

"That doesn't belong—" Pidge couldn't take her eyes off the creature. Ivy wreathed her ankles, reassuring. She frowned, puzzled. The ivy had left a bare space around Shiro, as if it recoiled from him as much as she had from the looming creature.

"You don't belong here, either." Pidge wasn't sure whether she meant Shiro or his shadow. Perhaps both.

"This isn't a place any of us can stay," Shiro said.

"Don't ask me why, but I can't leave yet. Any chance you have another cord like that?"

Shiro shook his head. "Sorry."

Pidge studied the prickle of light along her fingertips. She caught up the energy, teasing it free like pulling off a strand of spun sugar. She twisted the thread between her fingers, drawing it out, until it was long enough.

She pressed her hand, fingers spread, palm flat against Shiro's chest. Something round and hard throbbed against her palm. She pushed the energy-thread into Shiro's chest.

"I'll be as quick as I can," she said.

Shiro put a hand over hers, pressing once before letting go. "Hurry."

It took only a thought and Pidge fell backwards through the ivy. Down through the hanging strands, memories brushed along her body. She paid them no mind, letting the images pass through her. The ivy trembled, and the distant sobbing grew louder.

Pidge slid down the vines and landed on her feet. The only light came from the ivy, glimmering streaks along the veins in each leaf. A figure curled up among the ivy's central roots, weeping.

"Hey." Pidge knelt, pulling away the ivy draped across the person.

Layer after layer, until a shape was revealed. A blue-haired girl wearing ancient Vakarian clothing, hands over her head. Pidge caught the girl's wrists, tugging gently.

"Hey, look at me," Pidge said.

"No," the girl moaned, curling up tighter. "I'm not talking to you. I'm mad at you."

"For seeing what you've been through?"

"No!" Green dropped her arms, eyes flashing in the murky light. "You let Black in here, and now half my forest is shredded. Black's worse than a Yendalian in a sugar shop."

"Uh, sorry?" Pidge settled back on her heels. "I have to go. But I couldn't leave you so upset."

"I'm not upset," the girl said.

"Right." Pidge sighed. "Just like you're not talking to me."

The girl wiped her eyes with an angry gesture. "Go away."

"I'm sorry Black hurt your forest," Pidge said. "I'm sorry for intruding on your memories, too. I had no idea what they'd done to you." When the girl only shrugged, Pidge dared ask a question. "What's your name?"

"I'm—" The girl sniffled. "Green, I guess."

"Hunh. What does Yellow call you?"

"Why?"

No reason, really, other than to get Green to talk. "Humor me."

"Green." The girl made a face. "And Shorty."

"And Blue?"

"Smartass, mostly."

"Red?"

Green sighed. "Sister, if he's in a good mood. Green, if he's not. He's not usually in a good mood."

"Yeah, I get that feeling sometimes. What about Black?"

The girl fell quiet for a bit. "Mmm…" She scrunched up her face. "Mira."

"Nice to meet you, Mira," Pidge said, politely. "I'm Katie, but everyone calls me Pidge."

"And of course that doesn't bother you," Mira sniffed.

"Not any—" Something tugged, sharp and firm, at the center of Pidge's chest. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Like you care." Mira set her jaw and stared off into the murky distance.

"You're my… partner," Pidge said. "We're sort of like sisters."

Mira frowned. "I don't need a sister."

"I never needed a brother, either, but I've got one." Pidge got to her feet and put out her hand. "Walk me out?"

Mira gave Pidge a suspicious look. She gingerly put her hand in Pidge's. Everything swirled around them, and Pidge gasped to find herself in the clearing. Directly ahead lay a tear in the forest, an open seam leading to an endless starry sky.

"Black never closes doors behind them," Mira said. In the starlight, there was no mistaking that despite Mira's taunts about Pidge's training, Mira was a half-head shorter. She looked about two years younger, too.

"You don't like Black much?" Pidge felt for the energy cord nestled under her breastbone. Oddly, there were three more… no, four, five. More?

Mira shrugged. "Black is too much for love or hate. I guess we get along, so that's good enough."

"What about us?" Pidge clasped a hand to her chest, trying to reassure Shiro on the other end. "I want us to get along, too."

"I won't be your friend." Mira crossed her arms, sullen.

"Then tell me why you became Green," Pidge said.

Mira opened her mouth, and closed it with a scowl.

"If we're friends, I wouldn't ask." Not entirely true, but Mira didn't need to know that.

"I had to." Mira screwed up her face, head tilting back. "If I didn't, something… I can't remember what, though."

A stronger tug at Pidge's breastbone. "I have to go." She put a hand on the opening. The starlight outlined her fingers in purple. "Next time you want me to visit, just ask."

"I'm gonna forget you said that," Mira retorted.

"See, told you we could be like sisters." On impulse Pidge leaned back, flicking her fingers up just like Matt would do, and popped Mira lightly on the forehead.

Mira yelped. Pidge grinned and dove headfirst into the starry sky.

 

 

 

Hunk kept his fingertips on Pidge's shoulder, ready to catch her when she woke. No one moved. Lance sat between Hunk and Allura; only his eyes moved, darting back and forth between each of them. Keith and Allura were focused on Shiro.

Shiro stared into the middle distance, unseeing, unblinking. Sweat dripped down Shiro's forehead, catching on his eyelashes. His skin was ashen, mouth open, chest barely moving.

Allura moved, instead.

Her head jerked up, spine snapping straight, eyes wide, teeth bared. In the next instant, she slapped both hands over her mouth, muffling the scream.

"Lance!" Hunk shouted.

Lance reacted instantly, catching Allura, tugging her away from the circle. Hunk left Pidge to Matt and crawled around the group, joining Allura.

"What the hell are they doing?" Lance asked. "Allura, princess, come on, what's happening?" He caught her face between his hands, trying to get her to look at him.

"Wait," Hunk said.

With nothing more than Yellow's approving rumble in the back of his head, Hunk nudged Lance aside. He didn't let himself think twice. Consequences were for later. Right now, there was only one thing he could do.

Hunk pulled Allura into a hug.

She remained stiff in his arms, her face against his shoulder and neck. Her muffled scream stuttered to a halt, and cracked on a sob. Hunk didn't let go, one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulder, fingers splayed across the back of her neck.

"I'm here," Hunk whispered. "I'm here. Let it out."

Allura moaned, dug her fingers into Hunk's shirt, and sobbed. She shook with every anguished wail, her lamentations broken by huge gulps of air. Behind her, Lance hesitated, then threw his arms around both Allura and Hunk, resting his head on Allura's shoulder in turn.

The door burst open, banging against the stone wall. Coran stood in the doorway, two priests behind him. Hunk couldn't hear anything over Allura's howls, but there was no mistaking the priests' horrified expressions. Hunk grit his teeth and nudged Allura.

"Coran's here," Hunk said, hoping that would give her pause long enough to catch her breath.

Coran was already across the room as Allura raised her head. Hunk didn't even have a chance to remind Coran of the taboo about Balmeran touch tainting Altean royal blood or its retainers. But Coran didn't reach for Allura. He dropped to his knees, throwing his arms around Allura— _and_ Lance and Hunk.

"What happened?" Coran asked, over Allura's head.

Yellow growled in Hunk's head. Green had woken from her somnolence, furious, tail lashing hard enough to sting each time it slammed into Yellow's flank.

"I don't know," Hunk said. "I think Pidge was inside Green, and Allura couldn't go there, but she could send Shiro. And then suddenly…" He shrugged, at a loss.

"Not Green," Coran muttered, dismay obvious. "That one's got a grudge."

"Any idea why?" Hunk asked. If it was going to cause tension in the team, knowing the reasons would go a long way towards knowing how to resolve it.

"No." Coran sighed. "It's how Green's always treated the crown."

One of the priests cleared her throat, fingers over her mouth, sleeve edged in brilliant crimson. The other priest waited with arms crossed, covering the embroidered cuffs that would indicate his affiliation, but he wore his scowl openly.

Allura's sobs trailed off into hiccups, and Coran sat back. Hunk eased his hold, letting Allura lean against him while she caught her breath. Hunk couldn't deny the pleasure. Not a romantic gesture, something more. Protection, trust.

"Princess," Coran said. "Are you better? The priests have come—"

Green roared from the courtyard, loud enough to rattle the shutters in the windows. She did it again, then a third time, with a bass rumble that made the hairs stand up on the back of Hunk's neck. From Yellow's dismayed thoughts, the lion had finally moved out of Green's reach, and Green had rounded on him, instead.

"Holy shit!" Pidge yelped, sitting up straight. "Would you _relax_ ? It didn't hurt _that_ much!"

Hunk caught Lance's glance and nodded. Pidge's words seemed meant for Green, and if that was so, Hunk finally knew exactly where Pidge had been. Of course she wouldn't have been peaceful about it. Probably got into a fist-fight with Green, or a magic-fight. Whatever Vakarians did when they decided it was time to take the gloves off.

Shiro broke his stillness with a racking cough. He caught his breath and fell sideways into Keith's open arms. The movement was so natural Hunk would've sworn this wasn't the first time. Shiro ended up against Keith's chest, head on Keith's shoulder.

"We all made it?" Shiro rubbed his eyes.

"You two did," Lance said. "But not…" He jerked his head at Allura's slumped form.

"What happened?" Shiro sat up, as if he didn't even notice Keith's hands on his shoulder and waist, supporting him. "Princess? I tried to keep—"

The shutters blew open, blasting the room with bright morning light that was immediately cut off, throwing the room into shadow. Black had opened its wings with a growl that silenced all the lions.

Hunk sent questions at Yellow, who shushed him. Yellow was busy creeping backwards out of Black's line of sight, along with Blue. From the look on Lance's face, Blue hadn't given him any better answer than Yellow had. On Shiro's other side, Keith rose into a tense crouch. Yellow threw Hunk a visual of Red beneath Black's spread wings, and Hunk would've laughed if the situation hadn't felt so dangerous.

"Close the door," Shiro said. "This isn't for the temple's ears."

The female priest stepped forward. "We're here because—"

"Wait outside," Shiro said, in that same quiet voice. "Matt."

"Hunh? Oh." Matt stood, arms out. "Please."

The two priests hesitated, perhaps waiting for Allura to speak, but the princess kept her head down, huddled within Hunk's embrace. Matt took a step forward, and the priests backed out of the room, closing the door behind them. Matt made a quick gesture, and the air grew dull in Hunk's ears.

Shiro turned his attention to Pidge, eyes narrowed. "How did you break the cord?"

 _What cord_ , Lance mouthed at Hunk, who shrugged.

"I think it got overloaded with all Green's memories," Pidge said. "I was worried I'd forget them once I was out of there."

"I didn't forget Yellow's," Hunk said.

"It was a lot, alright?" Pidge shrugged. "I couldn't take any more of—"

"So you sent them all to Allura, instead." Shiro's expression stayed neutral, but his tone was icy.

Hunk eased back, frightened. Lance edged around to put Allura between himself and Shiro. Even Keith leaned away, brows up.

Shiro had eyes only for Pidge. "Did you even _think_ about what that would do?"

Lance shot Hunk a confused look. Not wanting to draw Shiro's attention the way Green had drawn Black's, Hunk chose a different route. He concentrated on four pictures, and asked Yellow to relay them to Blue. A heartbeat later, Lance nodded. He'd gotten the message.

"Allura's tied to all the lions." Pidge wrinkled her nose. "Who else would I give them to?"

"You keep them to _yourself_. You've had more than a moon to get used to the bond. This is part of it."

"It was too much! You can't expect me to—"

"I don't. _Green_ does."

Pidge flinched at the sharp tone, her hands fisted on her thighs.

"Those were _Green's_ memories." Shiro's brows came down in a hard line. With his chin tucked, he looked ready to charge. "Did you even ask, before you took them? Because you clearly didn't ask before you threw them away!" Shiro stabbed a finger in Allura's direction. "You took a sacred trust and lobbed it off on someone—who wasn't _expecting_ it, wasn't _prepared_ , wasn't _warned_ that you were about to drop almost _two hundred years of waking memory_ on her!"

"I'm s—"

"Don't compound your mistake by apologizing to the wrong person," Shiro snapped, so harshly Lance recoiled along with Pidge. Shiro's voice thickened, rough and low with echoes. "You have until moonrise to make your peace with Mira, or I will pin you both down until _I'm_ tired of the effort, and you don't want to test how long that can be. This is our chance, and your attitudes will _not_ put this at risk. Are we understood?"

Pidge stared at the floor, shoulders hunched.

From everywhere and nowhere, a growl reverberated through the room. It wasn't Shiro; it was Black. Hunk's stomach knotted at Yellow's vertigo-inducing images, too fast to understand except for the terror behind them. Allura raised her head, mouth open in shock.

"Get to work," Shiro said, calmer.

Pidge nodded, climbed unsteadily to her feet, waving off Matt's hands. She strode from the room, yanking the door open so hard it banged against the stone walls. A scuffle from the hall sounded like Pidge had run right into the priests, probably shoving right past them. Green's whine echoed from the courtyard.

Shiro exhaled, bending over with his hands on his knees.

"Hey, you okay?" Lance asked.

"Shiro?" Keith asked.

Hunk had to admire the man's bravery for putting a hand on Shiro's shoulder. In Keith's place, Hunk would've gone with the usual tactics when dealing with wild animals. Hands open and empty, no fast movement, and definitely no sneaking up from behind. Yellow chuffed in Hunk's mind, amused by the comparison but—to Hunk's dismay—not exactly disagreeing.

"Shiro," Keith repeated.

"Yeah, sorry." Color had returned to Shiro's face, a touch of pink on his cheeks and the tops of his ears. Embarrassment. "I don't like when I get annoyed. Sorry."

"Just proves you're only human," Hunk said, trying to reassure.

Shiro looked startled, but his smile was genuine.

"Yeah, but seriously." Lance sounded as nonchalant as ever, but the tightness remained around his eyes. "If that's what you call being annoyed, warn me when you're about to get _really_ pissed off. I want to make sure I'm on a different continent."

 

 

 

Lotor let Axca twitch his dress uniform until the jacket skirts fell exactly as she wanted. Ezor and Zethrid each carried a box; all four of his adjutants were dressed impeccably. They'd arrived in Oriande before dawn, making it to their assigned quarters in the royal fortress as the sun's first rays hit the top-most peak. Since then, it'd been a flurry of preparations.

Narti signaled to Zethrid. _You clean up nicely. Looks good._

"Hey, thank—" Zethrid cut off with a scowl.

Ezor giggled. "You always fall for that."

"Ready?" Axca asked Lotor.

"No, but let's do this." Lotor took a breath, letting it out slowly. It'd be the last deep breath until he was done, since he didn't want to ruin the lines of—

Axca tugged at the side of his jacket, pulling it back into place.

Lotor spared a smile for her, aware that would also be his last until this task was done.

"Alright, let's go," Axca ordered, and the rest fell into line, flanking Lotor.

Two of Sendak's adjutants waited in the hall, leading the procession to the ministerial wing. They sprang ahead to open the doors in unison, and Lotor stepped into the vast space.

A broad red carpet stretched the length of the hall, ending before a large desk. Sendak stood beside the empty chair, also dressed in his finest, expression giving nothing away.

On either side, dark-robed ministers filled the elevated steps running the length of the hall. Tall windows let in the morning sun, casting the ministers' faces in shadows.

Lotor took in both sides with a sweeping glance, startled to see not a single seat empty. Prorok would have already executed every minister, as slave-owners; it must have taken significant work to identify suitable replacements for each.

Lotor paused for a count of three, as one of Sendak's adjutants stepped forward with a long recitation of Lotor's name, son of Honerva, and a list of titles. Half of which he'd earned in Daibazaal, the other half of which were those nominally granted the Queen's eldest child.

When the adjutant stepped back, Lotor strode forward with an even, unhurried pace. As he approached each row, the ministers rose from their seats, giving the impression of a wave rising before him.

Flashes of color at their cuffs made it clear. The Galra had re-instated an Altean governing body along aristocratic lines, but it had done so by finding family within the temple. By law, temple priests could not own possessions, and that would include slaves. Ignoring, of course, that the temple itself owned slaves. Perhaps Prorok had chosen to accept the technicality.

The Galra warlords were certainly observing all the courtesies, this time. Even Sendak's position, beside the royal seat rather than on it, spoke volumes.

Lotor stopped within speaking distance of Sendak. "I claim the throne of Altea on my mother's behalf. I am Lotor, son of Honerva, daughter of Minerva, daughter of Kollura. I bring the leonine regalia as proof of this claim."

Robes rustled as ministers, some settled in their seats, some halfway to sitting, all rose as one. They whispered with their neighbors, jostling to see despite their positions giving them an unbroken view. Sendak's eyes narrowed; a dozen or so minister-priests closest to the front grew quiet, though some fidgeted.

A priest from the top row of seating pushed through the crowd, coming down to Lotor's level. With a slight bow that would've been considered the height of complicated in Daibazaal and the barest minimum in Altea, the priest held out her hands, palms empty.

"I am Farrelle, a second priest of the hidden god, and the minister of ritual," she announced. "I would verify these regalia before we proceed."

Lotor beckoned to Zethrid and Ezor, who carried the two boxes and set them on the table before Sendak. The priest followed, opening each box and removing the items: a diadem, two bracelets, and a belt of five pendants linked by chains.

Some of the items, she turned in her hands, peering closely; Lotor decided there must be hidden marks that only an authority would know. Farrelle held the diadem up to the light streaming in through the tall windows, angling the simple band until the crystal at its center caught the light, scattered a five-colored rainbow across the red carpet.

The priest beckoned three ministers down: two with interwoven blue ribbons at their wrists, and the third with cuffs of that sparkled with emeralds. The four bowed their heads over the roughly-made silverwork. Their mouths moved in silent prayer until they broke apart, smiling.

"These are the true regalia," Farrelle announced. "However, the set is missing the ten rings, the pendant, the sword, and the anklets. What do you know of their whereabouts?"

Right hand to deliver pain, then. Lotor gave the woman a level look. "My mother has three of the rings. I believe five more are in Lady Hira's possession. The remainder of the regalia must be with Princess Allura."

"Or among the families," one of the other two priests whispered.

"My mother requested an inventory," Lotor said.

"With respect, your highness, I doubt that would've told you anything," Farrelle said. "The ones who know what they have, wouldn't admit it to an outsider. And the rest wouldn't even know what they have."

"They certainly never would've told any chattel," the emerald-cuffed priest said. "And now…" He shrugged, leaving the meaning implied: the previous ministers were dead. Any secrets had been burned along with them.

"In your mother's place, you must verify your heritage as a child of the Altean crown." Farrelle held out the diadem. "It's not meant to question your parentage, your grace. Every child of the crown does this, at least once."

She appeared to intend to put the diadem on him, but she barely reached the middle of his chest. He might've been shorter than most Galran, but he'd always towered over most Alteans. He still couldn't break a lifetime of Galran taboo against bowing so deep he exposed the nape of his neck. He chose instead to lower himself on one knee before the priest.

The action startled her, but she steeled herself and set the diadem at his forehead, sliding the prongs into his braided hair. When the central jewel touched his skin, something rippled up his spine, forcing a gasp from him.

From across the broad oak table, Sendak watched, impassive. Lotor's adjutants remained in a semi-circle around him; Narti made tiny gestures with her fingers, relaying their worry. Lotor stood, collecting himself.

His plan—if he could be so generous as to apply that term—had been to somehow undermine the ministers' faith in the regalia. His mother had been certain there were words or gestures to trigger the regalia's power. From the information Ezor had collected in Daibazaal's royal archives, even a single wrong move would nullify the calling. The ministers would conclude Lotor's mother had no claim to the throne.

It wasn't much, but it'd thrown things into enough chaos, and it'd protect Allura's standing. Sendak would be an obstacle, but Lotor had sidestepped worse trouble in his life. What he hadn't expected was for the diadem to react with no action from him.

The sunlight stabbed at his eyes; he put a hand to his forehead, wincing. The priests murmured reassurances, something about adjusting. Lotor opened his eyes, blinking warily. Everyone remained where they'd been; nothing darted or spun in his vision, but something prickled between his shoulder blades.

Lotor turned to face the doors, puzzled. Axca stepped out of the way, with Zethrid, Ezor, and Narti following suit. Nothing lay beyond them, but he couldn't look away, waiting.

"No!" A girl's voice, high and frantic. It echoed in Lotor's ears like a shout carried through mountain tunnels. "You're going to kill her!"

 

 

 

Keith was pretty sure if Hunk or Lance stepped away, Allura would crash over. Neither man appeared to be touching the princess, which seemed to be the only thing holding the priests back from denouncing all of them.

"Princess," the female priest said, genuflecting with an elegant flourish. Red stones glittered at her wrist.

Keith frowned, mind blanking on the name of the Altean god of fire.

"Princess," the male priest echoed. "The rest of our temple is currently medicking for the injured townspeople. We understand you requested a release."

Black and purple embroidery ringed the man's wrists, a simple design of wool couched on linen. Keith made a note to ask Thace later if the embroidered materials indicated rank, or the design itself.

"Yes." Allura's voice was more breath than sound.

Shiro stiffened. Keith instinctively stepped forward, his right hand coming to rest naturally on the hilt of his knife. Shiro had shifted to a defensive position, and Keith had every intention of making sure any attacker had to go through Keith, first.

"How long—" Allura gathered herself with obvious effort. "How long will it take?"

The female priest gave a slight shrug. The other pursed his lips, thinking. "Perhaps a quarter-hour, at most."

"No," Shiro said, low and threatening. "Princess—"

"I gave you what you wanted most." Allura swayed, recovered. "You haven't repaid that."

Shiro's mouth flattened. "You're making—" He broke off, brows coming down.

In the same instant, something slammed into Keith. He fell back a step, hands curled protectively over his head. Shiro's hand brought Keith to a stop, palm splayed against the small of Keith's back.

"Keith?" Lance asked. "Are you—" He cut off, eyes rolling back in his head.

"Lance!" Shiro yelled.

Allura caught Lance with a cry, but his lanky frame was too much. The two of them crashed to the ground. Keith twisted, clinging to Shiro's prosthesis. If Shiro let go, Keith was going down as well.

"What's happening?" Allura cried. "Lance, Lance, wake up!"

"It's like—" Keith couldn't hear his own voice over the desperate shouting in his head. He couldn't make out the man's words, except for Keith's own name in the garbled shout.

"We're being called," Shiro said, through gritted teeth. "Keith, Hunk, you have to fight it."

"I'm trying," Hunk snarled, sweat dripping from his brow. "Yellow's caught in the middle. I can't—" He landed heavily on one knee. "I won't let—"

"Hunk!" Allura screamed, as Hunk fell.

Keith closed his eyes, unable to resist the pull. Red needed energy, and only had one source. Against the power of whatever called them, and Red's desperate thrashing, Keith had nothing left to fight. Shiro called his name, but Keith couldn't find breath to answer.

The room tilted, and everything went dark.

 

 

 

"Who are you?" Lotor demanded, tempted to squint as if that'd make the empty air transform into something that fit the voice he'd heard. "Show yourself!"

Ezor jolted forward, and Narti caught Ezor's arm, tugging her back. The minister-priests whispered among themselves, craning their necks to see the door. Sendak's two adjutants remained before the closed doors, unmoving, except for their ears flat against their head, disconcerted by the attention.

"Ask each for their blessing," Farelle whispered, under her breath, "but absolutely do _not_ let them close enough to touch the diadem. They'll feed from its power and turn on you."

Lotor stifled the urge to snap at her. He'd had no training in this, no idea of what to expect. He'd been a fool not to ask Allura more questions when he'd had the chance.

He glanced up and down the ranks of the ministers. Every face was an adult's, none fitting the girlish youth Lotor would've matched with that voice. Lotor's head pounded.

Sendak watched him carefully, as did the priests. Lotor dismissed that concern; obviously it was too late to pretend the regalia wasn't doing anything. A little behind Sendak, a common Galra soldier, one Lotor hadn't noticed before. And not one of Sendak's, either; the soldier leaned against the wall, too casually. Sendak would've cut the man down for that.

Lotor fixed his gaze on the soldier, suspicious.

The soldier gave a half-wave. "They can't see anything. Ignore them."

"What about you?" Lotor asked.

"I can see you just fine," the soldier said, pushing away from the wall. He stepped around the table, moving through a shaft of light. "And _everyone_ can hear you."

Lotor's heart nearly stopped. Sendak was faintly visible through the soldier. One of the castle's spirits? Allura had told Lotor tales, but she'd never said anything about the spirits speaking.

The soldier moved out of the light, form solidifying again. He barely topped Lotor's shoulder, in all other ways a classical Galra specimen: long-legged and lean, dark hair pushed off his brow, curling around his ears into shaggy points and long enough to rest on his shoulders.

His uniform was Galra, but what should've been maroon was crimson—and the style was all wrong. The leather cuirass was molded tightly, pauldrons too simple and close-fitting, and his skirt was pleated leather, not linen cut straight. Except the gentle sway of the skirt as the soldier moved, everything else was sleek and trim, no padding to emphasize height or breadth.

The uniform of a Galra foot soldier from centuries ago, when Daibazaal was only a loose conglomeration of steppes tribes. Lotor's analytical mind took in the details, cataloging them against the wall carvings, paintings, and woven banners featured in every public space in his father's palace.

Other shapes flickered in Lotor's vision, superimposed on the slow-moving ministers. A shorter man, broad-shouldered. A woman behind the Galra soldier, blue-haired and blue-skinned, cheeks glittering like sunlight on water. She set a hand on the soldier's shoulder, knuckles flexing, and disappeared. The soldier's smile turned grim.

Mind whirling, Lotor opened his mouth. The soldier raised a hand, forestalling Lotor's words.

"Let's get this over with," the soldier said. "Give me your hand."

Lotor eyed the calluses along the fingertips, a white scar across the palm. Too late to stop now, and there was no denying the thirst to know. Lotor held out his hand, palm-up.

The soldier laid his hand over Lotor's.

Rushing filled Lotor's ears, enough to make him shut his eyes against the spinning vertigo. The sensation snapped back to stillness, and Lotor opened his eyes. Light and dark had reversed, the morning sun turned to shadow, every person—Altean and Galran—turned insubstantial. Only the soldier before him was solid.

Another figure moved in the corner of Lotor's vision, a flash of golden-yellow. Staying back, but tensed, waiting. Lotor's instincts rang as loud as temple bells; the other two were somehow an even greater threat than the one before Lotor.

"This act is blasphemy," the soldier said. "You must release the call."

Blasphemy? Hardly the best way to be introduced. The question was whether the minister-priest had been aware of how the guardian spirits would react.

The soldier studied Lotor's face, puzzled. "You're part-Galra."

"And part-Altean, through my mother."

"Who is your mother?"

"Honerva, daughter of Minerva—"

The soldier showed no reaction.

"Who was daughter of Kollura—"

" _Oh_." The soldier's acknowledgement was nearly a snarl. "You're just like her. Destroy everything and no care who pays the price."

A price? Lotor tensed. "Allura? Is this call hurting Allura?"

"Our queen?" The soldier looked away, eyes wide. "Kind of… In a way..." His gaze darted towards Lotor, and away, uneasy.

Younger than Lotor had realized, and a pathetic liar. "Are you the Red Lion? Where are the rest of you? I thought the diadem was meant to call all five."

"You're doing it all wrong," Red warned. "Release the call. Black and Green have been through enough."

"I mean them no harm."

"You're doing them harm. You're doing _all_ of us harm." Red shook his head. "Your ambitions will cause trouble."

"Only if I intend so, and I do."

"Is that supposed to reassure me?"

"Depends on where your loyalties lie," Lotor replied.

"With my… family." Red's cheeks flushed. "Stop this. _Please_."

The light and shadows reversed, and switched back again. Red's form faded, pain creasing the soldier's face. Lotor braced himself, focusing his mind on Red's form, pleased when it solidified. Red snarled, and oddly, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

"What will happen?" Lotor asked, too curious to stop. "If I don't let you go?"

"You'd curse us all, and we're so close. _Please_. Let us go."

Gone was Red's disdain, replaced by an earnest desperation. The soldier was a heartbeat away from lowering himself to beg. Lotor would push to gain knowledge, but not at the cost of humiliating another. He'd have to learn his answers by some other means.

Lotor jerked his hand away.

Light snapped back to shadow, sound burst against Lotor's ears. No shadowy spirits remained in the hall. Before the minister of regalia could say anything, Lotor tore the diadem from his hair, dropped it to the floor, and brought his boot-heel down square on the crystal.

It shattered in a flash of blue light. Lotor barely covered his face in time, as the ministers raised their voices in surprise and panic. Lotor shook off the dazzling afterimages and stepped away from the twisted remains of the diadem, satisfied.

Farelle stared, aghast. "That's an ancient relic, and you destroyed it—"

"It's an abomination," Lotor snapped. "I met the guardians. I've proven my claim. Zethrid, Ezor, get the rest." He'd find some excuse to destroy each piece, one at a time. Or just lose it over the inner sea on his return. He didn't care, but his skin still crawled from Red's urgent plea.

"No!" Farelle may've been short, but her voice carried command. "These are meant to be in the keeping of the minister of regalia, and—"

"They haven't been in your keeping in twenty generations," Lotor said.

"I won't let you destroy them like you did the crystal." Farelle spread her arms, blocking Lotor's way. "You would unleash a nightmare upon Altea!"

"Block my way to the throne for a heartbeat longer, and I will show you a nightmare," Lotor warned.

Farelle didn't move. "Your nightmare would be but a daydream compared to the eternal darkness we'd face. I can see in your eyes what you intend. Do not, or you will curse us all."

"I see." Curious that the very thing the Red Lion saw as a curse, the minister saw as preventing a curse. The picture sharpened in Lotor's mind. "Very well. Ezor, Zethrid, pack up the regalia. And..." He nudged the twisted silver with his boot toe. "This, too. We'll return it all to my mother."

At least the boxes. The contents, he'd abandon to the depths of the inner sea.

 

 

 

Lance opened his eyes with a groan. Everything ached, though it seemed all he'd done was crash to the floor. Someone rolled him over onto his back, prompting an embarrassing moan from him.

Allura leaned over him, blue eyes glimmering with tears."Lance, Lance! Are you awake?"

"Yeah, something like it," Lance said, sitting up with her help.

Coran supported Hunk. Shiro held Keith, still passed-out but stirring. Shiro was wracked with sweat, and trembling. Lance couldn't even fathom the energy it must've taken to refuse.

"Someone check on Pidge," Lance whispered. "She's not gonna be feeling much better."

Allura snapped a command, and running feet led from the room. Matt, maybe, or one of the priests. Lance didn't care, mind filled with Blue's complaints.

"What happened?" Allura asked. "Was it a magi attack on the lions?"

"No, a royal attack." Lance bent over, hands on his head. "Some kind of headband thing, I think." Blue's images were frantic, and her worried rumble—usually so reassuring—just made Lance ache even more. "It called... I don't know how to describe it."

"By the five," Coran swore. "They used the _diadem_. Those monsters!"

"It was Lotor," Hunk said. "He wore it."

"What does it do?" Lance asked.

"It brings forth the lion's awarenesses," Allura said. "When the lions sleep, they'll only come if the diadem's worn by a descendent of Altea's first queen. All five appear, each with a phrase. Providing the phrases proves one has been recognized as a potential ruler."

Hunk made a face. "Aren't, like, all the Altean noble families related to the crown?"

Allura flushed. "Well, it wasn't always like that. But, yes. Not that this is much of an issue, now, I suppose."

Lance shot Hunk an annoyed look. Good job, reminding Allura of the Galran massacre of her extended family. Hunk caught the expression, and Yellow's relayed image from Blue, and shrugged.

"Is Keith awake yet?" Lance asked, looking up. "Tell me when he comes to, so I can punch him right back out again."

Shiro shot Lance a warning look, but it was ruined by the amused twist to Shiro's mouth.

"What? Why?" Allura scooted around to block Lance's view of Keith. "You'll do no such thing."

"Blue gets all the fun," Lance grumbled.

Out in the courtyard, the lions circled, Yellow and Blue narrowing in on Red, backing the smaller lion up against one of the burned-out husks of the former merchant headquarters.

"It wasn't a problem, before," Allura said, slowly, two fingers to her forehead. "When Red's paladin was chosen by the priests, Green's memories say they always chose someone steady, someone who'd keep Red in check."

"So much for that one," Pidge drawled, voice tinny with the relay through the lions' connections. "Now Red's got a pilot with the same worst impulses."

"Hey," Shiro said, softly. "Red muscling in first is why you're awake, and Keith's not."

"I guess I owe him one, too, hunh." Pidge sighed.

Lance scrubbed at his face. "What was the phrase? Everything's already slipping from my head, like a half-remembered dream."

"The phrase?" Allura frowned, then brightened. "Ah, it's supposed to be a blessing, a different line from each lion. I was only four when my parents had me tested, though."

"I guess it's a secret," Hunk said. "One of those queen things."

Across the room, Keith stirred, muttering something to Shiro, who whispered a response with a furtive kiss to Keith's forehead. Lance looked away before either could noticed he'd seen, and his gaze landed on Coran, who sat with his back to the two paladins. Coran was pointedly looking anywhere but at Allura, so he wasn't embarrassed for the same reason as Lance.

"Is it, though?" Lance asked, curious. "If it's secret, how do you know the person's telling the truth?"

"Coran was there," Allura said. "As scribe on behalf of the ministers, I thought. Do you know, Coran? Is it the same phrase for everyone, or do the lions deliver different messages?"

"Originally they delivered a blessing, or some advice to the child," Coran said, with a slight cough. "They haven't done that in generations, though."

He looked around the room, and Lance realized for the first time that the priests were gone, along with Matt. It was only the six of them.

"What did they tell you?" Hunk asked Allura.

Across the room, Shiro raised his head, Keith now propped up against Shiro's chest. Keith yawned, showing all his teeth, then rolled over and fell asleep, bracketed within Shiro's arms. Lance would've liked to do the same, except for the Shiro part. A nice fluffy bed was more Lance's style, when he ached as much as he did right then.

"I haven't thought of it in years," Allura admitted. "I've seen the record Coran wrote down, so I guess that was what I'd reported, but I've always remembered it as—" She stopped, face going pale.

"Princess?" Lance prodded. "What is it?"

"I understand," Allura whispered. "Now I understand."

"What?" Hunk looked back and forth between Coran and Allura. "You can't say that and not explain."

"I must speak with the guardians." Allura climbed to her feet and shook out her skirts. Her hair was in disarray, her eyes red from weeping, but her spine was straight, her jaw set. "It's time to end this."


	22. Chapter 22

Allura stepped across the threshold and into the town square. The heavy wood creaked as the servants dutifully shut the doors behind her. Allura leaned back against the formidable iron-studded doors, gathering her strength. Gray smoke billowed across the courtyard, wreathing the five lions. Two sides of the square had burnt down during the battle. The Blue lion had quenched the flames, but Lance had held her back from dousing fully. No one wanted a minor flood through the debris-filled streets.

In the first centuries of the guardians' existence, stories told of how they'd fight independently, alongside their paladins. Two souls, working in tandem. Somewhere in the centuries since, those stories had faded into legend, the reality closer to an advanced machine programmed for its survival, nothing more. Allura couldn't cherish those illusions, now that she'd seen Green's memories. A feeling person occupied the lion. A willing sacrifice who'd chosen to protect her family and her people, who'd mourned their end and raged against those who'd hurt them.

The lions sat in a loose circle, still as statues, living as people spellbound with anticipation. Allura stepped off the threshold and crossed the square. Green crouched between Black and Yellow, and a figure rose from the mud, something in its arms. Matt, carrying Pidge.

"Is she alright?" Allura asked.

"Unconscious, but she woke long enough to recognize me," Matt said. "Exhausted, somehow."

Like the others, then. "Get her inside?" Allura asked. "Let her rest."

"Yes, Princess." Matt's nod passed for a bow, and he headed back towards the central building.

Allura took a deep breath, measuring absently to make sure she'd chosen the central point between the lions. With no ceremony, she dropped to her knees.

Rubble pressed into her knees through her skirts. She sat on her heels and bend over, fists planted in the mud like a petitioner.

"Guardians of Altea," she said, forcing calm into her voice. "I am here before you as—" Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard. "I am here before you to address the wrongs of my—"

Metal creaked. Allura kept her head down, but her gaze darted madly side to side, sensing more than seeing that all five lions had bent downwards. Their muzzles surrounded her, close enough to touch, or to open those tremendous jaws and tear her apart. So be it.

"I apologize to Green for intruding on her memories, but now that I know, I can't—" Again she had to swallow, catch her breath. Her fingers dug into the mud, holding on. "I can't pretend like I don't know what my family did. What my people did. The price Green—Mira—paid. And I'm—"

She choked, heart hammering against her ribs. If it'd happened to Mira, who was to say the rest of the lions didn't hold similar memories?

"I'm deeply sorry," Allura said. "I know I—"

 _I want my people's freedom_ , a girl whispered in Allura's mind.

Before Allura could react, a boy replied. _Mine were cast out_. Images flooded Allura's head, of a sacred space desecrated with animal remains and human corpses. A long line of empty-handed people marched towards the horizon, children crying.

 _Hunted for sport_ , a woman said. More images: the spires of Oriande looming over the great river, its crystal waters red from blood. Bodies floated on the surface, scales turning dull in the late afternoon light.

 _Mine were slaughtered in their beds, unarmed_ , a young man replied. A line of stakes down a twisting street, every head a man, woman, or child. Galra heads, backlit by burning rooftops.

"I can't bring them back," Allura sobbed. "I'm sorry. I can't undo any of it. All I can do is—"

What _could_ she do? How could she ever compensate five souls for the pain they'd suffered, and watched their peoples suffer?

"Take me," Allura offered, bowing her head. "If it'll ease your pain, take me. My family gave the orders. I carry their blood in my veins. If it'll—"

 _Enough_ , a fifth voice said, echoing like a thousand voices spoke at once. _You are only one person. Your life is not so valuable it would ever be adequate compensation._

Allura nearly collapsed face-first into the mud and charcoal. Her limbs shook at the force of Black's power, bearing down on her.

"I don't have any better ideas," she cried. "I can't crucify every last Altean for crimes that happened five hundred years ago! All I can do is offer myself."

Black's sigh reverberated through Allura's head. _Child, we said: enough_.

"Please," Allura added, desperate to hold herself upright. "I know it's—I'm being presumptuous, forgive me, but—could just _one_ of you talk? It's like there's hundreds of you, and I can't take it."

In the silence, it sounded like someone giggled. From the direction in her mind, Allura guessed it was Yellow.

A shadow fell over Allura. She raised her head a fraction, as lion's paws appeared before her. As big as dinner plates, silvered claws as long as Allura's entire hand, swathed in black waves of silken fur. Allura blinked, and the paws were simple black boots, with crude silver links around the ankles. The person knelt down before Allura, wool-encased knees almost touching hers.

"We can't do this for long," the person said. "Look up, child."

"I—" Allura raised her head and lost her voice.

The person was a man with a woman's smile. Or perhaps a woman with a man's eyes. Or both at the same and then again neither. It made Allura dizzy trying to keep up, until the face grew solid in her vision.

Bronze skin, square jaw, strong nose, heavy brows, thick black hair pulled back under cover of a hood, a corner of the black wool cloak that covered most of the person, masking their shape.

Allura tried to memorize every detail, losing each like smoke in the breeze as soon as she moved to the next. One thing stood out, unchanging: Black's eyes, tilted up at the corners like Shiro's would, when he felt some private amusement. And another: an intricate circular brooch pinned the cloak closed at one shoulder.

"You're Shiro's people," Allura blurted out. "I mean, Shiro's your people."

"Our child, yes." The person's voice was no more of a clue, mid-range, graveled, like an elder's rough tones. "We called ourselves the First People."

"Your brooch. I've seen it before." Allura racked her brains. Had she seen it in a book? No, she remembered the winter sun glinting on it, unexpectedly dazzling. A person, leaning over her, hand on Allura's head—the memory clicked into place. "I met you, as a child."

"You met all of us," Black said. "Do you remember what we said?"

"Only the feel of it. I thought it was a dream. My parents said it meant my rule would bring peace, that I'd never have to call you."

Black pressed a fingertip to Allura's forehead. Voices rushed through Allura's head, memories of herself as a child. Swamped in her formal gown, diadem on her forehead and held in place by her mother's strong fingers. Watching from outside herself.

No, from Black's vantage. Black's memories.

 _I miss my family._ Blue was a young woman with an sad smile.

 _I can't take this again_. Red was a young man, dark hair covering his brows.

 _I want to go home._ Yellow was a boy with kind eyes.

 _I m tired of war_. Green was a girl, lip curled in frustration.

 _Let us be left in peace_ , Black had said.

Black released Allura, who nearly fell face-forward into the mud. She sobbed, head curled over her fists, and pushed herself upright again. She'd come to make amends. She'd find a way, somehow.

"I believed what my parents told me. I never realized," Allura cried. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have called you forth. I should've destroyed every last thing that could've brought you, I'm sorry—"

Green growled. Yellow chuffed, silencing Green.

"We are here, now.," Black said. "We're bound to this place and land."

"If you were bound, there must be a way to unbind."

"Two ways, we were told. One will kill our paladins."

It was Red's turn to growl. The lion's claws dug into the muddy ground, tearing at cobblestones.

"I won't." Allura shook her head. That was the way she'd refused since she'd first called the lions. "Not unless I have no other choice. What's the other way?"

"We were never told," Black said, not unkindly. "We were only promised."

"What happened? Why were things so desperate that you'd—" Allura cut off the questions.

Her muscles shook with the effort of speaking, thinking, even breathing. If the lions had pulled on their paladins to be present for Lotor's call, she had to keep this short. She couldn't have the paladins drained further. A new idea unfurled, and Allura snatched it eagerly.

"Who made you? Who made those promises?" Allura asked.

"The priests. And our peoples as witness." Black fell quiet. "The land has changed much since those days... There was a large square stone, before a cave like our home."

Allura tucked that odd comment away. "The priests. The temple! The main archives are in Oriande. If I can get there, if I can get into the archives. I can figure out how it was done, and then I can undo it."

 _No_ , the girl cried, in Allura's mind. _You'll forget all about my people. Not good enough!_

"I'll revoke the laws against Vakarian magic, and free your people, but I can't promise they'll go back to doing magic. It's been centuries," Allura reminded the lion.

Green hissed, tail lashing, but subsided at a flash of Black's eyes.

"And you," Allura said, twisting to face Yellow. The lion's eyes were glowing slits in the half-light of overcast sky and dark smoke. "I'll give a home to your people, and let them build a new temple where theirs once stood."

Yellow's eyes closed, its nose dropping precariously close to Allura. Almost like a bow.

"For your people, I'll return the river treasures you were forced to leave behind. What I can't replace, I'll repay in reparations," Allura offered Blue. "I could offer you the river again, too."

Blue made no sound, and the silence in Allura's head had the quality of one considering it carefully.

Allura studied her hands, clawed into the dirt revealed when cobblestones had been torn up by the lions' landings. Red's image of his people executed, bodies displayed as a warning. A conversation popped into Allura's mind, one she'd had with Lotor from their school days.

"Red," she said, raising her head to stare down the sullen beast. "The royal archives would have the locations of the Galra towns in Altea, and something about where your people were buried. I'll see to it your people are exhumed and returned to the Marmora, for proper tending in the Galra tradition."

Any single promise would be a major undertaking. All four would be a life's work.

"What about you?" Allura asked Black. "There must be something I can do, for you."

Black seemed to retreat into the black folds of the cloak, face fading in the shadow.

"I'll keep Shiro safe," Allura promised. She couldn't help grumbling under her breath, though. "I just wish he'd let me free him, already."

"He's frightened," Black said. "He's a child. Be easy on him."

"He's a grown man, and he's stubborn as rocks."

Black's shoulders shook, a silent laugh. "He takes after his line."

"What can I do, though? Something, anything."

"Let our child bring home the last of our people," Black said. "We once protected the high places of Altea. Then we were hunted into extinction, and our images protected the high families. Let our people return, and let it be your turn to protect them."

"I'll do that. Shiro's from Yendalia," Allura muttered. "We'd need to—wait, _your images_?" Her tumbling thoughts skidded to a halt.

The royal crest of Altea had five rampant lions, while the temple protected itself with four circles woven into a central fifth. There was only one image every family used, carved into lintels and over doorways. Whether cut crudely or an intricate looping knotwork, it was always enough to invoke the general shape, one every child knew.

"You're lokassa," Allura said, awe mingling with horror. "My father…"

 _That_ had been Alfor's purpose. He'd believed Shiro was lokassa. He'd bound an orphan child to protect the royal family, believing the myth of the ancient race protecting all of Altea.

Shiro did have the sense of justice ascribed to the lokassa by myth. Most people, Allura included, had been raised on stories that lokassa punished misbehaving children. Take away the bedtime stories, and what lay beneath was the same creature that stood guard at doors and gates. Noble creatures of the air, righteous, but sometimes beyond mortal understanding. That made lokassa unpredictable, and as likely to turn on Altea as to protect it.

The temple's solution had been to craft prayers that would tame lokassa wild magics, and shape it into Altean alchemy.

"I'll make it happen, somehow." She left off the comment that convincing Shiro would probably be the hardest part. Her vision swum. "Blue, tell me when you've decided. Or if you want something else…"

The last bit of strength left her. Black's form dissipated like smoke, and Allura sagged sideways. Her thoughts spun and fell into place. Some Alteans had allied with the lokassa, living alongside in the lokassa mountain strongholds. Some stories said those Alteans had worshipped the lokassa. Other stories called it a fair partnership of two peoples.

Where had those mountain tribes gone? The lokassa were extinct, but those people must remain, somewhere. Yendalia, if that was truly Shiro's childhood home. She'd begin there.

"Princess!" Coran's voice, from across the square, coming closer.

Thace reached her first, rolling her over and pushing her muddy hair from her face. "Princess," he said, mouth tight with worry. "Say something, Princess."

"You—" Allura spat out the taste of mud. "You can use my name, by now."

Thace's eyes crinkled. "Are you alright? Can you sit up?"

"Where's Coran," Allura said, glad to lean against Thace.

"Right here, princess," Coran said, falling to his knees beside her. "The lions, did they hurt you? Did they—"

"Please, stop." Allura couldn't seem to remember Black's face. It kept sliding away from her. Now she understood why Pidge had feared forgetting the memories. It was too much for one human to hold.

"Princess?" Coran got a hand under her elbow, ready to guide her up. "It's getting dark. Let's get you inside and, uh, cleaned up."

"Wait, I need to know." Allura clutched at Coran's jacket. "When I was little, and met the guardians. I know what you wrote, but what did they _really_ say?"

"The usual, nothing—" Coran faltered, looking away. "The same as when your mother first met them, the same as they've said for two hundred years." He sighed deeply. "They're tired of war, they miss their people, and they want to go home and be left in peace."

Allura nodded, satisfied. "That's what I've sworn to them. This will be the last war they ever fight. I'm going to find a way to free them."

"No one knows how," Coran said. "If they did, someone would've done it, if only to keep them out of a rival's hands."

"There must be a way." Allura accepted their help to stand, amazed she could keep her feet but glad of Thace's hand at the small of her back. "If anyone knows, the temple does, so that's where I'll start."

"They're not going to tell you," Coran said. "You're threatening to take away their greatest power."

"The gods should be power enough for them," Allura said, darkly. "Get the generals. We need a plan to recapture Oriande."

 

 

 

Shiro blinked in the room's twilight. Lance and Hunk lay at opposing ends of one bed, Hunk snoring softly while Lance had wrapped his arms around Hunk's calves. A blanket covered Pidge's shape along a padded bench against the wall. Shiro had backed up to lean against the wall, bringing Keith along with him to sleep with his head on Shiro's chest.

Black's presence returned, curling around Shiro with a chill breeze across Shiro's neck. It ruffled the short hairs, reminding Shiro his hair was getting long. He scrubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. Twelve years in Altea, and he still couldn't shake his own people's preference for cropped hair as a marker of adulthood.

Not that he minded Keith's unruly hair. Shiro dragged his fingers through Keith's hair, tugging gently at some of the tangles. Keith mumbled against Shiro's chest, yawned, and fell still.

Strange that Shiro wasn't equally exhausted with the rest of them. He had been, until Allura had left. He'd known when Black had turned attention on Allura, as if letting Shiro up from a strong pin on the practice mats. Shiro had given a mental shake and stretch, readying for another round. And now Black seemed to have dismissed the class without further instructions.

 _What did you say to her_? Shiro asked.

Black gave a rumbling purr, without images. Cool velvet brushed Shiro's cheek and was gone, leaving the odd impression that Black had gone to sleep. The bond remained, a delicate note like the peal of a distant bell.

The door opened and Allura swept in, along with what looked like half a field of dirt. Her skirts were black with mud from the knees down, and her sleeves looked like she'd been digging up to her elbows in dirt. Splotches of mud covered her hip and shoulder and down one sleeve. There was mud in her hair and across her cheeks where she'd wiped her face and made it worse.

"Princess," Shiro coughed, barely choking back a laugh at her bedraggled state.

"I need—" Allura looked down, made a face, and wiped her hands on her skirts, leaving black streaks across the shiny material. She waved Coran out, who bowed and shut the door as he left.

She swept a glance across the room at the sleeping paladins, snorted, and to Shiro's shock, undid the hidden fastenings at the side of her gown, pulling off the jacket. A few clicks and the skirt came undone, leaving her in a floor-length petticoat and a long-sleeved under-blouse. Mud stained both.

Shiro nearly swallowed his tongue, averting his eyes just in time.

"Oh, stop," Allura said, low-pitched to keep from waking anyone. "We need to talk. I can bathe and dress after, but this can't wait."

Shiro stared at a point off to his right, finally settling on a patch of white-washed plaster. The mountain sun through the window turned the patch blue-silver.

"You can look, now." Allura sat down facing him. She'd removed all but a sleeveless shift, knee-length, long brown legs bare and folded beneath her. She caught up her tangled—and mud-streaked—hair into a messy knot.

"I, uh, don't think it's appropriate." Shiro's cheeks were hot, his ears practically aflame.

"I don't care," Allura whispered, harsh. "We need to talk. Are you sure they're all asleep?"

Shiro listened for a moment. No one's breathing had changed, and Keith remained a comfortable weight against his chest. He nodded, apprehensive.

Allura's mouth was flat, but her tone was gentle. "Were you born in Yendalia, or was that just where your family settled?"

Shiro's heart nearly stopped, tension snapping his muscles taut. He breathed through his nose, somehow finding a calm tone. "Why do you ask?"

"Can't you just answer the question? Where were you born?"

It was ludicrous enough to be talking alone with the princess when she wore nothing but a shift and a sheen of mud. He counted to ten before he answered, rather than blurt out the truth. It would only sound as ridiculous as the entire situation.

"I don't know precisely where I was born," he said, carefully. "My parents were travelling at the time. My childhood memories are of Yendalia." At least for six years. The longest he'd ever lived in one place, until Alfor had brought him to Altea.

"Do you still have family there?"

"I don't know." Shiro sighed, relenting. "I don't know if any of my—village—survived. My parents told me to flee, and I know they—" He swallowed, unable to prod at memories that still haunted him too vividly. "I don't know. I haven't been back since."

Allura heaved a deep breath. "I know why my father brought you to Altea, what he wanted. Black told me."

Terror stabbed Shiro's gut. He glanced past Allura. The door remained closed, the window open. Two stories up, but the question was whether he could get away before the archers shot him down. Black's presence moved sluggishly in Shiro's mind, unperturbed by Shiro's panic.

Keith mumbled something, claws digging into Shiro's arm, a sleepy reflex. Shiro instinctively petted Keith's hair, soothing him until Keith's breathing evened out again. Allura watched, missing nothing with that too-sharp gaze.

He did his best to keep his voice steady. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing," Allura said. "You're in no danger from me."

If only he could believe that. True, she hadn't brought guards, and she'd made a point of meeting him as close to unarmed as possible.

"I promised each of the lions their freedom," Allura whispered. "Each one had a request, and Black asked me to let its—no, _their_ —people return to Altea. Black considers you in that number, and… I was thinking, if we could find out if any of your extended family survived..." She left the question hanging, eyes wide with excitement.

Shiro doubted anyone would let themselves be taken alive, at least among the adults. His cousins might've been as foolish as him, trusting strangers to be kind.

"Yendalia is neutral, so at least we don't have to deal with Daibazaal," Allura said. "I can have a message sent to our diplomat in Hama—"

"There's no point," Shiro said, cutting her off. "If there were other survivors, they probably ended up in a Polluxian mine. They'd have been lucky to last a year."

"Polluxian—" Allura's mouth formed a round 'o' of astonishment. "Pollux attacked you?"

"Who did you think it was?" Shiro asked, a bit sharper than he intended.

"Daibazaal. They're always raiding Yendalia's borders."

"Technically, Folata does the raiding. Daibazaal just provides the armaments."

"Yes, fine, that's not really the point. The Polluxian royal family are my kin. I'm sure we can work something out. I promised Black to find your people, give them a home, and protect them. That includes you."

Did she have the least idea of what she'd sworn? Shiro knew his smile was bitter. "I should tell Black to ask for something more. I'm only one person."

"You're not going to talk me out of looking for them."

"I accepted the truth a long time ago, princess." Shiro's lips twisted, an echo of a shrug.

"Accept this truth instead, Shiro. That collar is going to be off you before we leave Pekiar."

"Princess," Shiro said, acutely aware of the sleeping bodies around them. He met her direct gaze and shook his head, slowly. " _Please_."

Allura leaned close, resting a hand on his forearm, voice barely above a breath. "I don't know why you're frightened, but Black seems to think it's something you need to face. I agree. You've put this off too long."

Cold sweat trickled down Shiro's spine. He was so close to more than he'd ever thought he'd have, and she was threatening to take it all away. His mouth was too dry to form words.

"Shiro, I won't have another person disrespect you, in my presence or out of it. I understand you're doing your best to free everyone, but you need to remember that includes _you_."

"Princess." Shiro coughed, trying to clear his throat without disturbing Keith. "You don't know what you're asking."

"What I don't know is why you keep refusing."

"When the priests—" Shiro pressed his shoulders flat against the wall, mind darting in every direction. There had to be a way to explain without actually explaining, if he could calm his racing heart long enough to come up with the words. "They won't agree—"

"I'm their queen, until further notice." Allura frowned, finally catching on. "You were twelve, Shiro. There's no way you were a hardened criminal. I don't think you have it in you."

Despite the tremors running through his system, Shiro laughed.

" _Oh_ ," Allura exclaimed. "I'll draft a decree. I'll need three ministers as witnesses, so we'll have to wait until we rejoin General Hira… but that should be a formality. The Black Lion chose _you_ , and a guardian's claim always comes first."

Shiro nodded, glad of whatever would buy him a little time, even if he had no idea what she seemed to understand. He racked his brains for the categories of bound chattel. Perhaps a queen could declare a single person an exception to the first three categories. Only the temple had jurisdiction over the fourth.

"Princess," Shiro whispered. "Allura... Can it wait until Oriande?" That'd buy him six moons, maybe more. Enough time to experience all he could, before it ended.

Allura's brow furrowed, and she stared down at her hand, laying across his sleeve. She squeezed, once, and let go. "Oriande. But that's it, Shiro."

"Understood." Shiro dredged up a smile. "If there's—" He thought he'd have more time. He'd never counted on anything, and now that it was within his grasp, his chest ached to see it slip away. He couldn't quite look her in the eyes. "A request…"

"A pillow and a blanket?" Allura asked, brightly.

Shiro smiled, relieved she hadn't assumed something worse. He raised his gaze to stare directly into her wide blue eyes. "Teach me to read."

Allura froze on whatever she'd been about to say, registering the words. Her shoulders dropped, but her responding smile was sweetly genuine. "It would be my honor. Once we're in Oriande, I can find you a—"

"No, no waiting." It'd be too late. "Right away."

"Oh." Allura's gaze turned knowing, her smile sadder. "Of course. I'll have Coran track down what we'll need… though first I must meet with the generals. We need to map out the next stage of our strategy. After what Lotor did, we can't waste any time heading for Oriande. I'd wanted everyone there, but…" She glanced around the room at the sleeping paladins. "Looks like you're the only one awake. Could you join us, or am I keeping you from rest?"

"I'll join." Shiro glanced past her at the discarded pile of clothes, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of teasing. "Please don't tell me you'll bathe in here, too."

"No need, there's a bathing room through that side door." Allura waved over her shoulder. "A half-hour, in the main hall, then?"

"I'll be there, princess."

"Good." Allura's smile widened, and she grasped Shiro's arm a last time. "I'm not proud of what my father did, Shiro. But I am proud to have met you."

To Shiro's surprise, his response was sincere. "Likewise, Allura."

She gathered up her discarded clothes and let herself into the adjoining bathing room. Dusk had settled across the room as they'd talked, cloaking everything in shadow.

Shiro curled his arms around Keith's sleeping form, reassured by the sounds of four people breathing evenly. His mind wandered through the conversation, abruptly stumbling at the meaning in Allura's words. She intended to turn away from capturing the provincial areas, and aim for Oriande itself.

He thought he'd have more time. It seemed he'd have even less than that. Shiro buried his face in Keith's hair, glad of the dusk to hide the tears.

 

 

 

Hunk couldn't hear the footsteps, but his fingertips pressed to the stone wall caught the tremors of someone's silent passage. The door hinges creaked, confirming his guess. To be safe, he counted to twenty, opening his eyes right as something clicked sharply, metal on metal.

Confused, Hunk sat up, sparing a frown for the way Lance had wrapped himself almost completely around Hunk's shin. On the other side of the room, Keith struggled to latch his Galran armor into place. Keith looked bleary-eyed, and he rubbed his eyes twice for every tug of the belts locking his arm-guards into place.

"Keith," Hunk whispered. "What's going on?"

"I'm going to talk to the princess," Keith muttered.

"You gonna do that talking with your mouth?" Hunk asked. "You look more like you're gonna let something pointy and sharp do the talking."

"If it comes to that." Keith picked up his second arm-guard, ruining the effect with a yawn. He dropped the guard, and the metal buckle clattered loudly.

"What!" Pidge sat up straight with a yelp. "Are we being attacked?"

"Everything's fine, just a dream," Hunk soothed. "Go back to sleep."

"Oh." Pidge squinted at Keith. "Why's he putting on his gear? We _are_ being attacked!"

"No, we're not, and Keith, you're not up for talking to anyone." Hunk tried to swing his legs around, but Lance held him fast. "Lance, wake up already and give me back my leg."

Lance muttered something into the pillow and released his hold.

"Why do you need armor to talk to her?" Pidge asked. "She can be hard-headed, but it's not like dealing with Hira."

"She threatened Shiro." Keith finally got his second arm-guard latched, and began on his shin-guards. "Whatever he agreed to, I'll undo it."

Lance rolled over to pillow his head on his arms. "Awful lot of trouble you're having, there. Just use the lion's armor."

"Can't." Keith cast Lance a glare and went back to focusing, somewhat cross-eyed, on his shin-guards.

"Obviously because Red doesn't agree with your stupid plan," Lance said. "Which is clearly stupid even without Red disagreeing. You're just going to end up in trouble."

"Fine, try _your_ armor," Keith growled.

"She didn't threaten him," Hunk said.

Keith slammed down his second guard, but the force almost sent him sideways. He righted himself with effort. "I could feel it. His heart, his breathing. He was—" Keith shook his head. "She threatened him."

"If it's threatening to be freed, then sure, I guess you could say that. But that's about it. She's determined to get that collar off him. She even promised to teach him how to read."

Keith stared, confusion warring with suspicion.

"Ow!" Lance sat up straight with a cry, staring at his wrist in shock. "What in the hells?" He shook out his wrist, giving the room an aggrieved look. "I tried to pull up my gauntlets in case we need to tie Lord Loner over there to a chair, but… damn." He tugged the bracelet out of the way, rubbing at the skin beneath. "Felt like my hand was gone."

Keith frowned. "Gone? My muscles turned to water."

Hunk looked back and forth between them, then at Pidge, who frowned thoughtfully and raised her own hand. After a moment, she dropped it with a nod.

"It's a backlash. We're overtired, and the lions overextended. So you're feeling the effects of the wrong element."

"Wrong element how?" Lance asked, at the same time as Keith demanded, "what element?"

"Depends," Pidge said. "Plants are weak against fire. I didn't try too hard, so it just felt like I got a little too close to the cooktop." She pointed at Keith, then Lance. "Fire is doused by water, and water is weak against air. Bet if Hunk tried it, he'd feel like he was cracking apart. Water erodes stone."

"I'll pass." Hunk perched on the edge of the bed. "Keith, if Shiro felt threatened by the chance to be free, I don't think that's Allura's fault. Something more is going on, here."

At least Keith put down the second guard. "Like what?"

"I'm not sure." Hunk rubbed his forehead. "I could sleep for another ten hours, to be truthful. My head's still fuzzy. But she promised to find his people and bring them back to Altea."

"His family died years ago," Keith whispered.

"Great, bring the undead to Altea, just what we—" Lance put up his hands at Hunk's sharp glance. "Okay, bad taste. What else did she say?"

Hunk repeated the gist of what else he could remember: Allura's promises to the lions, and her insistence on freeing—and protecting—Shiro's people. And Shiro himself.

"Delaying until Oriande?" Lance frowned. "That could be moons from now, a season, maybe a whole turn. A lot depends on what Daibazaal does next."

"More like two or three moons," Hunk said. "I think Allura's planning to aim straight for it."

"Just get it off and over with." Pidge slumped back on the bench. "Lance, if you're not going back to sleep, switch with me. This bench is too hard."

"I'll switch." Hunk stood up, though he had to hold onto the bed's corner column to keep upright. "This bed is like sleeping on sand."

"You've never actually slept on sand, have you," Lance muttered.

Pidge left the blanket for Hunk, scooting quickly to take his place on the bed. Hunk settled down on the bench with a sigh, glad of the firm surface.

Lance rode out the bed shaking as Pidge clambered over him to lay with her feet at Lance's shoulders. Hunk pulled the blanket around him, realized there were two, and wadded one up.

"Here," he said, and tossed it at Keith. "You need the sleep, too. Don't ask me how Shiro could walk without falling over. My legs are earthquaking like mad."

"Why doesn't he just take the collar off?" Lance asked, pensive. "Is there something special about it? Maybe it was given to him by someone important?"

Keith shook his head. "He didn't wear a collar when—when we met, the first time. When Thace and Ulaz brought him back to Altea, he was given a new one."

"So he's been without it, recently." Hunk thumped his head, wishing he could kick his brain into working better. "What happened, that made him think he needed it again?"

"Other than it being the law?" Lance shrugged. "Didn't you see the smithies at the gate, when we first entered Altea? That's where they collar slaves. And probably recollar runaways," he added in an undertone.

"Shiro was no runaway," Keith spat. "He was a dekan, he had a command and his own tanka."

Pidge rolled over on her back with a whistle. "He was no ordinary chattel, then."

"He was bound." Keith stared at his hands twisting in his lap, as if turning something over between his fingers. "I met him when we shared a cell, in a Daibazaal prison. I found a broken piece of metal, and kept it when I escaped—"

"Good one, you escaped and left him behind," Lance said.

"I didn't want to! He insisted. He distracted the guards long enough for me to get away."

Lance waved a hand, somewhere between an apology and a gesture to continue.

"It was the end of a slave-torc," Keith said. "There was a stone on the inside, where you couldn't see it if the person was wearing it. Thace said it was to bind someone."

"Hold on, I know this one," Pidge said, sitting up. "It's one of the few common magics left in Altea. Three, no, four categories… the first two are... Criminals with blood debts, and criminals with life debts."

Hunk frowned. "What's the difference?"

"Uh, I think one is murder and the other is rape. Or the other way around? Whatever." Pidge yawned. "It's just something my tutors mentioned. The Altean priests use a kind of cast. It stifles the person, in a way. They can't get violent, or raise their voice, stuff like that."

Hunk shook his head. They'd all seen Shiro yell at Pidge and show no bad reaction for it.

"If Shiro's a violent criminal, I'm a prince of Altea," Lance said. "What are our other options?"

Keith cast a worried look at the door. "If Shiro has secrets, it's his place to tell us."

"He obviously has them," Pidge retorted. "And he hasn't said anything yet, and from what Hunk said, Shiro wouldn't even tell the princess. He hasn't told you, either, has he." It was a flat statement, not a question.

Keith's only answer was to hunch his shoulders.

"The second are magic-users," Pidge said. "I guess Vakarians... or their descendants." She shuddered, but didn't explain. "The last are—" She huffed. "Maybe Shiro's Vakarian. Or Talwarian. Probably not Balmeran."

"A magic-user would be glad to use magic again, wouldn't they?" Lance made a face. "What's the last category?"

"Monsters," Pidge said.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's shorter than I'd want, but I figured better this than to make you wait any longer. one way or another, I'm gonna get back into the swing of posting regularly. *shakes fist*

Lance found Hunk beside Yellow, the man sitting cross-legged in the forest's fallen leaves, the lion hunkering down as if watching over Hunk's shoulder. The immense trees shaded the lion's bulk from the late afternoon sun and any airships spying from overhead.

Summer was reaching its zenith, but no sense of that warmth lived in the mountains. Lance shivered and wrapped his cloak tighter. Allura and the commanders had decided to run north along the mountains, freeing a ring around Oriande, and cut eastward to the capital once they reached the Nirox riverways.

Lance had a suspicion Thace's influence had played a greater role than the commanders. Excepting Hira, the other commanders seemed more inclined to settle into what little domains they'd carved out of the Daibazaal occupation.

Yellow's eyes glinted at Lance, an almost-friendly greeting from the lion. Lance tapped his forehead as an abbreviated salute, and Hunk looked up.

"Lemme guess, Blue found the spring right where Yellow said to look." Hunk clenched his fist around whatever he held. "Now you're done taking all the credit."

 _Water throughout the mountain_ , Yellow had said, according to Hunk. Yeah, big help.

"I didn't take any credit," Lance said, shrugging. "Blue took it all for herself. And neither of you were half as much help as you think. I did bring you some, though." He held up a waterskin.

Hunk didn't giggle like Lance expected. He managed a half-smile, eyes distant. Listening to whatever he held in that beefy fist of his. Hunk blinked, and the moment was gone.

"Talking to rocks again?" Lance asked, making himself comfortable on a fallen log.

"One in particular." Hunk opened his hand, and a flash of sunlight caught the broken stub of silver and black. The snapped-off end of what had once been Shiro's chattel collar.

"Keith let you have it?" Lance held out the waterskin, accepting the small object in return. He turned it over in his hands, unable to feel a thing and not expecting to, anyway. "Get anything from it?"

"Nothing." Hunk uncapped the skin, taking a long drink. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and settled down beside Lance. "Pidge said it felt like nothing more than a rock, to her. To me, it might as well be a drop of water. Or a candle flame."

"Just tossing the idea out there, but if Shiro doesn't want to explain, maybe he has a reason." Lance handed back the rock. "Going behind his back seems like you don't trust him."

"I know." Hunk pocketed the object and stood. "It's just… once Keith told us about it, I just wanted to know. Then Allura asked…"

Lance nodded, following Hunk through the thick forest, along the uneven deer-run that wound towards the small village where they'd taken shelter. He was willing to bet Allura hadn't asked until Hunk had told her about the thing. Then she would've wanted to know just as much as Hunk did.

Add Pidge in the mix, and Keith stood no chance. One of the three would've found a way to coax it out of Keith's keeping, just to satisfy their own curiosity.

Hunk pushed a branch out of the way, and motioned Lance ahead. "Come on, you're not the least little bit curious?"

"If Shiro wanted to tell me, I'd listen." Lance stopped, turning to face Hunk. "If he committed some crime, it was obviously not so great a lion wouldn't recognize him. And if he's…" Lance waved a hand, uneasy.

"The fourth category," Hunk supplied.

"Yeah." Lance scuffed his boot toe into the dirt. "I'm just saying… aren't we all, really? You've seen what Pidge and her brother can do. You can talk to rocks! We're led by a princess who can call up powerful beings on a whim. Keith's part-Galra, and the rest of him's human like Shiro, and you can't find worse monsters than them. And there's—I mean—does it really matter? Maybe Shiro's not all that unusual."

"And you?" Hunk's usual steady tone was replaced by something harsher, a dangerous quiet. It was a topic they'd never discussed, and Lance had spent their entire friendship evading. "Where you do fit into that picture?"

"The same as anyone. Like this tree." Lance brushed a hand across the trunk of a nearby tree, the white parchment-like bark tickling his palm. He leaned back, staring up at the tree's topmost branches, barely visible. "You take this whole thing and plunk it down in Reiphod, it'd tower over their puny coastal trees like you or Shiro among a hundred Pidges."

Hunk snorted, caught out of his uncharacteristic sharpness.

Lance patted the trunk. "Here, it's fine, but in a distant land… Maybe we're all monsters, when we don't belong."

 

 

 

Hunk slid into the small mountain cabin, barely larger than one of Yellow's claws. The village head had graciously turned over her home for Allura, her advisors, and the five paladins. It had gone without saying each paladin would sleep with their own lions, currently arranged in a loose formation around the village.

At least Hunk hoped that was the meaning of everyone else's polite nods. He wasn't going to leave Yellow out there alone in unfamiliar woods.

Dusk had fallen on the walk back, and the cabin's interior was as dark as night, lit by glowing coals in the firepit. Uncertain shadows danced across the faces of Allura and her advisors: Thace, Coran, Matt, Martan, and General Salla. Generals Gara and Tolfan had the majority of the foot soldiers, marching through the night along the narrow paths winding through the mountain range.

Hunk took a seat on the edge of the central wooden platform that served as family space and village meeting hall. It put him behind and between Allura and Thace, and directly across from Matt, whose eyes were closed, mouth open in a light panting as he reached out with his Vakarian skills.

The coals crackled in the hearth, and the last log split in a shower of sparks. Matt exhaled, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. Martan held up a waterskin. Matt took a drink, but didn't swallow, rolling it around in his mouth before spitting the water into a dark corner of the firepit. The heated sand hissed with a puff of steam.

"General Hira has left commanders in charge of Teidal and Udiade. Refugees are streaming in…" Matt wiped his mouth. "Mostly nobles, with their entire households."

Those on top looking to stay on top. Hunk had never thought he'd wish his own fate on anyone else, but for those who'd own another living being… He'd wish it, a hundred times over. Too bad Hira wasn't likely to toss those nobles out on their ass for Daibazaal to catch.

"General Ranin has pulled back the airships to the border with Vandor, drawing Daibazaal's fire," Matt reported. "Generals Hira and Dikata split their troops into squadrons. They're on foot and moving fast, aiming for the headwaters of the Nirox's northern branches. Ranin will come around and provide air support once he gets the signal."

"Signal?" Allura frowned. "Another Vakarian?"

"Vandoran," Matt said. "Not a pattern I know that well. Had to bypass them and go direct to General Hira." He grinned, a sly expression. "She didn't appreciate the interruption."

Thace unfolded a map, laying it down before him and studying it in the low firelight. He asked a few questions about the various general's locations. Matt checked in with Gara and Tolfan, while Thace, Allura, and Salla put their heads together over the map.

Hunk gave it half his attention. Shiro was his commander, and when Shiro told him to fly, Hunk would, and he'd go in the direction Shiro said. Though for Shiro to miss a strategy meeting... Hunk dismissed the question with a smile. It was easy to guess where Shiro was.

In the past half-moon, the team's waking hours had been spent fighting, moving by night between destinations, or laying low while the foot soldiers caught up. With a bit of time and no better trouble to get into, Pidge and Matt had conjured up a stack of blank parchment. Allura and Coran had carefully copied out for simple words and phrases; Allura and Hunk had traded off patiently guiding Shiro through reading each. 

When Pidge had modified the parchment to add guidelines for copying the Altean logographs, Hunk had worked with Yellow to coax the local stones into giving up enough graphite to make several writing sticks. The instruments left black marks on Shiro's hands, but he didn't seem to mind, often copying out the logographs with his left hand, dinner in his right hand for intermittent bites.

Ironically, Keith couldn't read much more Altean than Shiro, but he could draw passably. Lance had goaded Keith into a series of sketches, per Lance's descriptions, and Lance had neatly lettered a children's story to go with it. Something about a little green fish that sounded a bit like the stories Hunk heard as a child. Among Hunk's people, though, the trickster was a little desert fox.

"Hunk?" Allura's voice broke into Hunk's musings.

The meeting had ended. Thace folded up his map while Matt crawled off the platform, unsteady and looking haggard. They must've had him make contact a few more times, to wear him down that much.

"Sorry, half-asleep." Hunk rubbed his eyes. "Nothing. Sorry, princess. Gave it back to Keith on my way here. Pidge couldn't get anything, either. I think you're stuck asking someone at your temple."

"Oh." Allura's shoulders slumped. "I was hoping…" She glanced around. Only Thace and Coran were left, and Hunk knew both were fully in her confidence. "I was hoping if I knew, I could figure out a way without involving the temple. I just… I don't trust them anymore." Her smile faltered. "It feels horrible to say that."

"Maybe for you." Hunk shrugged. "I was raised to question every teacher, and assume no one knew everything. Well… I do trust them, but not to speak on my behalf when it comes to the divine."

"Yes, but your people have a direct relationship with your goddess," Allura said. "It's hard to think of speaking to the Five without a priest to intercede, no matter how great the need. I was raised to see direct communion as something beyond mere mortals."

"Then you'll be fine, princess." Hunk smiled, daring to lay a hand over hers, and grip her chilly fingers in a quick squeeze. "There's nothing _mere_ about you at all."

 

 

 

Keith heard the soft voice in the night stillness, well before he rounded the path that would bring him to Black's resting place. A shallow cove not far from the village, it had been a clear meadow during the day. Now it was occupied entirely by Black, whose eyes glowed down on the pages spread across Shiro's lap.

"And… Little Green Fish pu…" Shiro paused, head cocked to the side. "Put? Got it. Put his fans… fins… agin—oh, right. Against…"

A branch broke under Keith's foot, and Shiro looked up.

"Hey." Shiro smile was abashed. "I told myself I'd wait, but I wanted to find out what happened next." He patted the ground beside him, an invitation for Keith to sit.

"Lance wrote more?" Keith studied the pages, yellowed by Black's eye-glow. He hadn't illustrated these, and the writing danced in the chancy light. "How can you read like this?"

"Thace lit a light-globe for me, but it finally gave out a little ago." Shiro's finger stayed on the parchment, marking his place.

Keith lit a new bubble, letting it fall to rest on Shiro's knee. It illuminated Lance's laborious lettered work with a bluish glow. Keith squinted at the logograph above Shiro's finger.

"What's that one?"

"A...against," Shiro spelled out. "Did you want a turn?"

"No, I'll just follow along." Keith leaned against Black's immense forearm, tilting his head back to study the lion. Black seemed as fascinated by the story as Shiro.

"You're not even looking at the page," Shiro said.

"I'm trying to figure out how you're getting all this so fast." Keith didn't mean to sound grumpy, but exhaustion and a full stomach were catching up with him.

"I've got help." Shiro smoothed out the page. "Far more than I expected, from every quarter." He glanced upwards at Black, with a fond smile.

A split-second later, Keith caught the meaning. " _Black_ is helping?"

"Is it that much of a surprise?"

"What would an aitanka need with being able to read?" Keith asked. Red's presence rose in Keith's awareness with a chuffing rumble. Somewhere between annoyed and amused, and Keith snorted. "Guess I'll be apologizing to someone, after this."

Shiro laughed. "If your time's limited, we can save the story for later." He slung his arm over Keith's shoulder, pulling him close. "Cold?"

"Not too much." Keith had figured out he could call on Red's heat, if he needed it. Given the choice, he preferred Shiro's warmth. And, hopefully, anything else he could get, in one of the few quiet moments in their unrelenting advance towards Oriande.

Shiro murmured something, hand brushing idly up and down Keith's arm. Keith twisted in Shiro's hold, bringing his chin up, angling closer. At the last instant, Shiro turned his head away, and Keith's lips met Shiro's jaw, instead.

Confused, Keith kissed along Shiro's jaw, only relaxing when Shiro's mouth met his. The kiss remained chaste, and Shiro pulled away.

"Shiro?" Keith uncurled his fingers from Shiro's tunic. He'd rushed it, again, doing things out of order. He must've forgotten some—

"Keith, I—" Shiro softened his words with another quick kiss. "We should probably get some sleep." His breath came quick and hot on Keith's cheek, and his grip on Keith's shoulders didn't loosen. "We'll be up before dawn again, I imagine."

"Wait—" Keith opened his mouth, unexpected words falling out. "I found something." He dug in his hip pocket, withdrawing the broken stub with its odd black stone.

"I didn't know you collect—" Shiro's fingers brushed Keith's palm, right as the Galran light-bubble popped with a blinding flash. Shiro cried out in the same instant, throwing himself backwards and away.

The forest's night sounds fell silent. Keith shuddered as an angry growl reverberated in his bones. Not from Red, but Black. The stub of silver and rock remained cool against Keith's palm.

The greater moon peeked down through the treetops, outlining Shiro in faint silver. Shiro pressed against Black's forearm, bare hand clutched tight in his prosthesis, as if cradling an injury.

"Shiro?" Keith blinked away the after-image of the broken light-bubble. "What just happened? Are you alright?"

"Where—" Shiro panted, open-mouthed. "Where did you get that?"

"In the dungeon." Keith put it away. "Thace told me it was a bond of some sort."

Shiro slumped against Black with a long exhale. "Yes. It is." He laughed, a soft sound that carried notes of bitterness.

"What did it do to you?" Keith buried the rising panic. If that was a momentary reaction, what was Shiro feeling all the time, wearing two of those things at once?

"Overload, maybe?" Shiro wiped his face and let his hands fall. "Or it conflicted with… well, the ones I already have. I don't know."

"I didn't realize." Keith sighed. "I'm sorry."

"I'm fine, now. Just a strong shock." With a hint of a growl, Shiro asked, "That's it? No questions?"

Keith gave it serious thought. Alteans had little interest or trust in magic, and seemed a people who erred on the side of caution, even when unnecessary. That made any designation of Shiro as dangerous—by an Altean, at least—somewhat suspect, in Keith's mind. Moonlight glinted on Shiro's Olkarian prosthesis, and Keith nodded to himself, decision made. No wild animal would put aside their own survival for another, like Shiro had for Keith.

Dried leaves crackled as Shiro shifted, uneasy.

"No," Keith said, firmly. "No questions."

"I can't tell if you mean it, or if you're saying it to… I don't know," Shiro admitted.

"I said it because I mean it. What I need to know, I already know."

"And… what do you already know?"

"You. I know you." Keith shrugged, not sure of the point of Shiro's prodding.

Shiro laughed, an awkward sound. "I should've expected that. Come here?"

Keith crawled through the leaves to settle into the circle of Shiro's arms. Shiro's heart beat steadily against Keith's ear, warmth suffusing Keith's body with every stroke of Shiro's fingers.

"Hold on," Keith said, rising up long enough to carefully pull Lance's pages out from under his knee. "I don't think any got torn." He set the papers aside.

Shiro's hands slid under Keith's tunic to rest against the small of Keith's back. His fingers trembled against Keith's skin, and when he bent his head to Keith's shoulder, his breath was shaky against Keith's neck.

"It's not binding me, it's... limiting me," Shiro whispered. "I was twelve when I came to Altea. It's a difficult age. Too many strong emotions, not enough experience to know how to handle them. Had my fa—I should've spent my adolescence learning control. Instead, the stones did that for me."

Keith made an understanding sound and slid his arms around Shiro's waist. His adolescence had been no less fraught, struggling to balance human and Galran instincts. Sometimes the two aligned. Sometimes they conflicted horribly. There had been other half-Galran among the Marmora, like Antok, but no other human-Galran children. Keith had been on his own when it came to finding a balance.

"Without it..." Shiro grunted, a response to something Keith couldn't hear. "Nothing scares me more than hurting people I—than hurting people, without cause."

As far as Keith was concerned, Shiro clearly underestimated himself. It didn't seem like the time to mention that. With no other words, Keith pressed closer in the curl of Shiro's arms and legs. For a fleeting second, his nails lengthened into claws, digging into Shiro's skin. Keith caught himself. Shiro's skin wasn't Galra-hide, tough enough to be scored easily, nor likely to recover quickly.

Shiro inhaled sharply, body bucking once under Keith.

Or maybe… Keith eased up, letting his claws scrape gently. Shiro made a sound low in his throat, and caught Keith's chin, tilting his head up for a kiss, hungry and greedy. Keith didn't even have the wherewithal to smile in victory. He was too busy returning Shiro's hunger with every ounce of his own.

 

 

 

Lance scrubbed at his scalp, trying to wake up. "I get you're upset, princess, but Altea's a big place. You can't just send us out and hope we end up in the right place. We need a little more to go on."

Allura slammed her fists down on her thighs, frustrated. "I'm trying, but I can't get through. I know they were in Oriande—"

"And Oriande's not exactly a small city, either," Lance said.

"I _know_ that! But the longer we wait—"

"Hold on, hold on." Hunk put a hand between them. "This isn't helping."

Hunk looked as tired as Lance felt, and the glare of Brother and Sister moon shining down on the village commons cast Hunk's expression in a harsh light. Even Pidge took a step back, but Allura paid it no mind. Lance's estimation of her went up another notch. The woman had a backbone of steel, even if right then she looked like a young woman upset over what sounded like a bad dream.

The idea of talking to one of Lotor's adjutants, over a distance that vast? It wasn't just the far-fetched aspect of it, but also the idea that Allura had been speaking with the Galra for moons, now. Maybe since the beginning. How much information had she passed along, however unwittingly?

Lance shook himself. He need to focus on the priority. Talking across a distance…

"Hey," Lance said, ignoring Hunk's exasperated grunt. "Lotor talked to the lions once. Could he talk to them whenever, now?"

"If that created a link, it should be possible to open the link again," Pidge said. "Red did most of the talking. Have Red do it."

Lance rolled his eyes. "Red did _all_ the talking."

"It's worth a try," Hunk said. "Princess?"

"Alright." Allura took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and went perfectly still.

It'd take Keith out of any battle equation, though. Either to rescue Lotor and his four adjutants, or dealing with their progress towards Nirox. Lance weighed what he knew against the options. Lotor's adjutant, Narti, had spoken mentally with Allura, reporting a betrayal of some sort. Three of the warlords had gotten wind of Lotor's claim, and infighting had begun.

Lotor and his friends were caught in the middle: the emperor's only son would make for an excellent bargaining chip. It _had_ been a bit disturbing to hear Allura explain so calmly that if Lotor were forced to pretend he'd abdicated in favor of any warlord, Zarkon would blame Lotor, not his warlords. Lance grew up with complicated family relationships, but a person had to draw the line somewhere.

He didn't particularly trust Lotor, but he couldn't leave someone to that fate, either.

"Red's…" Allura swayed, held up a hand. Hunk took it, and Pidge took the other. Allura's eyes remained closed, but her shoulders straightened. "Found them. Red knows the place. He's relaying it to the other lions."

Hunk glanced at Pidge, then Lance. They'd been closest to the village, so Coran and Thace and woken them first. Keith hadn't been with Red, and it was Blue who'd said Black should be left alone until dawn.

"We'll go," Lance said. "Blue says it sounds like they're heading towards the Neqal river. We leave now, we can be there in time to lay an ambush."

"Alone?" Allura shook her head. "I can't send you without backup."

"Count me in, too," Pidge said. "Green and I have been working on a way to… it's kind of like making ourselves invisible. This would be a great time to test it out."

"Test?" Hunk slapped his forehead. "And if your tests fail?"

Pidge shrugged. "Then we're no better off. If it does work, it'd be so awesome."

"Well, she's not wrong. It'd be great if we could sneak up on the enemy." Lance buried the quiet resentment that no one had lauded how he and Blue could already do that. Well, as long as water was nearby. Minor detail.

"If you're using Red to relay, we need to figure out what to do about Keith," Hunk told Allura. "He and Red could end up out of commission. Can we call back the airships?"

"We don't need Red to be constantly present," Pidge said. "A few quick times to check in regularly. Make sure their heading hasn't changed. So… our best course is heading down the mountain, I guess, then cut across the Oriande plain."

"No." Lance smoothed out the dirt with a boot. "Here, look at this." He concentrated, and his belt and short sword took shape at his hip. A quick thought and the sword reformed into a silvery rod. Lance scratched out a rough map. "We're here, the Oriande river's here… we head south a little, then come up ahead of them, here…"

"I'd rather stay over the forests," Pidge said.

"Splitting up is too risky," Allura said, doubtfully. "The goal is to get Lotor and the others out of there, not to take on the entire Daibazaal army."

"Tactically, we might have to." Lance tapped the rod against the ground, thinking. "Alright, here's what we'll do. Pidge, stay in the trees but follow the river. Break north at this point… stay low and out of sight, and do reconnaissance. Figure out where they are, but do not engage. I'll get Blue to the river—"

"When you're under, you can't hear any of us," Hunk said.

"We'll rise at regular intervals to check in," Lance promised. "We want them at the river when we attack. I'll deal with the pursuers. Pidge, you grab Lotor and whomever's with him, and get out of there."

"I should distract, while _you_ get them away. _You're_ the one we know can get away where no one can follow," Pidge said.

"Blue's belly isn't watertight." Lance let the silver rod fade, and stood. "Let's get a move on." He checked the moons. "We've got maybe five hours until dawn."

"Keep me posted, and I'll relay Red's updates," Allura said.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mar 10: edited final scene pretty heavily.

Lotor halted the behemoth at the cave's entrance. The creature snorted and shook its head, anxious to keep going. They'd gotten away without alerting anyone, and Lotor had chosen to cross the open plains directly once they'd forded the Oriande. It'd meant an all-out gallop to gain more distance, only slowing once they'd reached the foothills circling the plains.

The behemoths had been glad of the change in terrain; narrow mountainous paths were their preferred territory. Lotor was less certain how they'd react to the place Red had guided them to: a cave narrow enough for them to walk single-file, tall enough to remain mounted.

Axca pulled up alongside. "No word from the lions?"

"No, but if my timing's right, Red should be checking in shortly." Lotor glanced back.

Zethrid had hold of Narti's slumped form, keeping her steady as Ezor leaped from the saddle. The rustle of branches overhead was the sole indication of Ezor's movement upwards.

"How's she doing?" Lotor asked.

"Groggy and dizzy." Zethrid gradually let go of Narti, who flicked her fingers in a quick gesture of gratitude. "But coming around, that's good."

"And you?" Lotor eyed the makeshift bandage around Zethrid's upper arm. In the shadows, the white should've glowed; instead, it was splotchy. "We can't leave that wound to get infected."

"It's not that bad," Zethrid said. "Not hot to the touch or anything."

"I'll be the judge of that," Axca replied, walking her behemoth backwards to put fingers against Zethrid's brow.

 _Yellow says you're in the right place_ , Red whispered in Lotor's mind.

It was too much like dealing with Narti: no point asking for warning. The presence simply came and went as it pleased. Unlike Narti, it felt unsubtle, a voice with its own rough timbre too distinctly not Lotor's own. Whatever else the lions could do, they'd never command another to be their voice, not without giving themselves away immediately.

 _Are you sure there's not an open path across the mountains?_ Lotor asked.

_There always is, if you don't mind running into unfriendly fire._

Lotor grimaced. A guide was useful, but what he needed were far-seeing eyes.

 _Fine, looks great from over here in west Altea._ Red's dry tone bordered on scorn.

 _I wasn't talking to you_ , Lotor replied. _We'll take it from here. Tell Allura._

 _She sends me, here I am_. A mental image formed of Red standing with his arms crossed, feet braced. Red wore a bored expression, but there was no hiding his exhaustion. With each appearance, it'd gotten worse.

_Then I'll send you back. This is wearing you out._

_Who cares what—_

Red's complaint cut off, as Lotor shoved mentally. There was abrupt silence in Lotor's head, an almost blessed peace. Red didn't say much, but he somehow took up too much space.

"And don't come back," Lotor muttered out loud. Branches shook overhead. "Ezor?"

"Right here." Ezor landed neatly behind Narti, evading the behemoth's fangs as it reacted to the sudden shift in weight. "Several squadrons on foot. Moving fast and well-lit. Airships farther back."

"Could you make out the banners?" Lotor asked.

"Barely." Ezor shrugged. "It's either Throk or Trugg."

"Airships must be Prorok's," Axca said.

"No, the airships are either Throk or Trugg," Ezor corrected, reaching around Narti to catch the reins. "The squadrons have no banners."

"Mercenaries," Axca spat.

"Stupid ones," Zethrid said. "Not even trying to hide their pursuit."

"No, they want to herd us." Lotor sighed and studied the cave's entrance. "I expect at least two other squadrons ahead of them, running dark. They'll get into place ahead of us, and we'd be steered right into them. Let's hope there hasn't been a landslide in the hundred or so years since Yellow last came this way."

Axca snapped her fingers, lighting a traveler's globe. She tossed it into the cave. It rolled along a well-trodden path and around the bend, leaving a streak of soft glowing gold in its wake.

"Zethrid, you take point, I'll take the van," Axca said.

"Here, hold the leads," Ezor said. "I'm taking scout."

Lotor caught hold of Ezor's reins, glancing back at Narti. She made a so-so motion. It had to be frustrating her, to have been overpowered with such a direct mental blast. All that mattered to Lotor was that Narti was alive. Those moments of thinking she'd died had cost him at least ten years off his life.

Zethrid grumbled, edging her behemoth into the lead position. "What about our tracks?"

Lotor clicked his tongue, urging his behemoth forward, after Zethrid. "Nothing we can do about it, now."

Hopefully, Axca's tracking skills would serve them well. They'd followed a creek up from the foothills to cover their scents and their tracks. Without knowing the banners of the specific warlords chasing them, it was hard to say whether the trick would fool anyone, or for how long.

At least he could be reasonably certain Sendak wasn't among the pursuers. Of all Father's warlords, Sendak was one of the few smart enough to forego any direct pursuit. Sendak would rather study Lotor's direction, known resources, and history. From that, he'd determine Lotor's destination, and be waiting when Lotor arrived. That was no reason to be any less diligent, but it was one less weight on Lotor's mind.

The ground was beaten dirt, not stone; the behemoths' massive hooves sent up puffs of dust with each step. For such massive creatures, they walked nimbly. The jangle of stirrups and reins was noiser by far.

Ezor whistled the all-clear.

"Lead on," Lotor told Zethrid.

Sendak's absent banners barely made up for Lotor's other worry: Allura had insisted she'd send two lions to retrieve Lotor and his adjutants. One to carry, one to distract and defend while the other got away. Lotor had nothing more than intuition to go on, but sending Red mentally was tiring that lion, as well. That left Allura down to two lions for her own uses.

Allura had one more major city to capture, and she'd have a complete ring around Oriande. A first-year strategist would know Allura's siege of Taliqal was a matter of when, not if. Choosing now to attack Lotor and drive him out could be coincidence. Lotor doubted it.

 

 

 

Pidge followed the river upstream, not sure whether she'd outstripped Blue or been left behind. Despite the moons' light, the water was too dark to catch sight of Green's reflection.

"I don't know, Mira," Pidge sighed. "Maybe it didn't work, after all."

Green rumbled, an annoyed sound. The lion wanted confirmation as much as Pidge did, after the hours they'd struggled to mesh their skills into a single lion-sized cast.

Something dark rose from the water, far ahead. Green opened her eyes wider, casting beams farther up the roiling waters. Blue twisted in the water, only her ears and eyes visible.

"Keep up," Lance called, over the connection. "Should be almost there."

"Stay out of sight," Allura warned. "It could be another hour before Lotor arrives."

Hunk made a disgruntled sound. "Yellow says if Red's not lying about the landmark, they're at the three-quarter point—"

"Don't let Keith hear you say that," Pidge said. "He's as touchy as Red, sometimes."

"Point is," Hunk continued. "Could be as long as two hours."

Shiro broke into the line. "He's not woken up yet. Don't send Red again. It's already been too much."

"That was the last time, I promise," Allura said. "When they come out, they should be about a mile downstream from Lower Neqiand."

"Yellow says the passage exit had a huge tree leaning over the river," Hunk added. "Half its roots exposed, curled around a massive granite boulder."

"A huge tree, big rock…" Lance's voice faded from the connection as Blue sank below the surface. When his voice returned, he was out of Green's sight again. "Found what's left of the tree. Big rock, but beats me whether it's granite. Everything's kinda dark right now."

"Guess in the daylight you'd just take it for granted," Hunk said.

It took Pidge a moment, and she groaned loudly. "Hunk, would you _not_."

Hunk giggled and the line went quiet.

"Alright, then, heading west to see what I can find of the pursuit." Pidge flexed her fingers and Green leapt to the treetops, staying low, eyes dimmed. They banged into a few top-most branches, and Pidge cringed. "Sorry, Mira."

Green growled, unimpressed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll make it up to you with a beautiful new paint job or something," Pidge promised. "Let's find those airships."

It was slow going, trying to stay in the shelter of the treetops while scanning for ground movement and air movement. Pidge had a feeling Black would've been awfully handy as her partner on this mission. Black was more massive than all of them, but at night, the lion seemed to fade away into a creature… not of starlight, but of the darkness between.

Green purred, sending a series of images that felt almost approving. Pidge swallowed the impulse to apologize for getting so poetic. If Green felt the description was apt, who was Pidge to argue?

Green chuffed, excited, alighting delicately on an old tree trunk. Her tail lashed against the hollow trunk, a quick thumping sound.

"Stop that, I'm sure it can be heard for…"

Pidge squinted, studying the stream of torches marching in a winding path between the trees. Behind them, a keening sound too high to hear, only felt: the whirring of airship engines.

"On second thought, keep it up. Let's get their attention." Pidge grinned when Green opened her eyes wide, shining golden beacons down onto the approaching Daibazaal troops. "Lance, we're about ten miles north-west of the river. Looks like… not sure, maybe thirty torches, and one airship. Maybe two."

"Ready when you are," Lance replied.

 

 

 

Allura studied the map. The airship's engines hummed as they hovered just above the treetops, a day's march from Taliqal. The floorboards shivered beneath her feet as the airship tugged on its anchor, pulled along by wind currents.

Taliqal sat on the cliffs overlooking the turbulent stretch of the Nirox where its two main branches met up; Oriande had carved its castle from a mountain, but Taliqal was a step beyond. The mountain _was_ the city, and the natural architecture of stone bridges, caves, and stony dwellings tucked over overhangs made the city almost impenetrable from the air.

The Vandorian skill lay in far-seeing, and their news wasn't good. Twenty Daibazaal airships circled Taliqal's peaks. With Taliqal's considerable anti-airship defenses, the best chance to take the city lay in a ground attack.

Especially when Allura's airship fleets were already reduced: each successive city the Altean war-commanders had retaken, they'd had to leave some as defense, further reducing their forces. Hira was down to six airships, which she'd split between Salla and Ranin, who had left theirs behind to patrol other crucial cities. Allura had retained Lotor's airship as her command vessel.

As the number of Altean airships had dwindled, the number of foot-soldiers grew, mostly chattel willing to fight in return for their freedom. Allura was under no illusions that those volunteers were anything but cannon fodder; they hadn't the training nor the weaponry.

"Taliqal is the last point in a complete ring," Allura muttered. "We can't not take it."

"Understood, princess," Thace said, still patient after an hour of debate. "But numbers matter, and you don't even have all five lions."

"I know." Allura kept her gaze on the map rather than admit her actions had exhausted Keith to the point of collapse. Keith had woken long enough to insist she send Red again, despite Lotor's refusal. She hadn't had to listen, but she couldn't abandon Lotor without a guide.

"The question is whether they're aware." Shiro had spent most of the meeting silent, standing as he usually did when thinking: feet braced apart, arms crossed, gaze distant.

"It could be Daibazaal is focused on capturing Lotor right now." Martan stood alongside Shiro, an uncharacteristic arrangement for two men who seemed to mostly avoid each other, to Allura's mystification. Side by side, they could've been kin: similar height, broad shoulders, strong jaws, and equally hardheaded.

"He's proven his claim," Martan continued. 'That makes him immensely valuable to the warlords."

"They'd make him a puppet," Salla said.

"They can try." Allura shrugged. Even if Keith was at full strength, three lions against Daibazaal's forces would be hard-pressed to even the odds. She wasn't sure all five would be enough, really.

From intelligence gathered by the Vandorian spy, the few ground troops were stationed around the anti-aircraft defenses. The lions' roles were effectively as decoys. They'd pretend to advance and withdraw, keeping attention on themselves while the airships covered them. Between them, they'd need to distract Daibazaal long enough for strike forces to slip into the city, bypass the city's defenses, and take out the anti-aircraft towers.

Three lions—rwo, really—would not be enough to keep the full attention of the Daibazaal warships. The longer it took to retrieve Lotor and its adjutants, the lower the chances she'd have all five lions present once the battle commenced.

Allura chewed her lower lip, torn between worry over Keith's exhaustion and the desperate need for an update on Lotor. Over the lion's connections, Pidge had fallen silent, focusing on giving three warlords a merry chase. Only a few minutes before, Lance had checked in, reporting no sign of Lotor or his adjutants.

"If Taliqal has a weakness, it's the size," Martan said.

The city's walls were over fifty feet thick; its thirty gates were iron-reinforced oak, each arch no wider than a single cart. As the city had grown, hewing itself out of the mountain, all that rock had become a series of defensive rings.

"The outermost wall is nearly ten miles long." Martan stepped forward, following the line with his finger. "It runs all the way to the cliffs."

"And those are nearly vertical," Salla replied. "Almost a three-hundred stick drop."

"Not impassable, though." Thace cast a glance at Allura; a hint of wrinkles around his eyes signaled his private amusement.

"The red lion could scale those cliffs," Salla said.

" _Keith_ could scale them," Shiro shot back. "Red doesn't need to."

"Might I remind everyone?" Hunk spoke up from the back of the room. " _Keith_ is out of the picture until at least the morning. Not that I expect some of you to give him any ideas—" Hunk's glance encompassed Shiro and Thace, and after the merest hesitation, Allura. "But for anyone else, let him sleep. It's hard on us, when the princess sends our lions over a long distance."

"Princess?" Lance broke in. "I'm heading in to see if I can find them."

"Blue won't fit." Allura ignored the baffled glances from everyone but Shiro, whose gaze remained fixed on the map.

"Of course not." Lance laughed. "She's staying here, keeping watch."

"Don't," Allura urged. "It's not wise to—"

"We'll be fine. Can't miss me if I never leave, right?" A slight snap and a click, and Lance was gone.

" _Lance!_ " Allura shouted. "Blue, do something!"

A rumble came over the line, and a flood of images broadsided Allura. She righted herself, waving off Thace's surprise. Blue was paddling in the river, enjoying herself too much to be concerned with Lance. Allura wasn't sure which of the two she wanted to yell at more.

"Well, that's typical," Hunk said, from Allura's shoulder. "Don't worry, princess. Lance seems to have the divine's own luck."

"Rather he had the divine's own sense," Allura muttered.

"Princess," Captain Platt said, from the doorway. His round face was creased in worry, his Chandran ears almost invisible, pressed back flat against his head. "Airship approaching from portside. It's General Hira, requesting we land and rendezvous with them."

"Signaling?" Allura blinked. She'd become so accustomed to Matt's Vakarian skills, she'd almost forgotten about the traditional airship signals of colored-light flashes. Hira had probably tired of messages intruding directly when she was preoccupied. "No further details?"

"None." Platt grinned, a strained expression. "Signals aren't that wordy."

"I see. Very well." Allura waved at the rest of the group. "Dismissed. Lord Thace, a moment."

Thace inclined his head, waiting with her as the rest filed out. Shiro was the last, and on impulse, Allura beckoned him back again. He shut the door against Martan's chatter with Hunk, and rejoined Allura and Thace before the map.

"Princess?" Shiro asked.

"Something's wrong," Allura said. "Hira's not only abandoned her chosen position, she must have commandeered one of Ranin's airships."

"Pidge said she and Matt left something with Hira for her to contact Matt directly," Shiro said. "There's no reason to use light-signals."

"Unless she doesn't want to give details," Allura said. "Am I being too paranoid?"

"It's not paranoia if you're right," Shiro said.

Thace smiled. "True. If your instincts have you worried, listen to them."

"Hira's always gone strictly by the rules." Allura mulled it over. "My mother once told me that was what made Hira such a good tactician. She saves up all her unpredictability for her enemies."

"And yet, here she is," Thace said.

Allura shivered. If Hira turned on her, everyone else would follow.

"She won't strike from behind," Shiro said. "She _is_ honorable, in her own way. She'll make sure you know why she's against you, in plain language."

"Martan was her lieutenant," Thace said. "Perhaps he'd know more, having served her directly."

"No," Allura said, before she'd even thought it through. "No," she repeated, firmer. "I don't think asking Martan would be wise."

"You doubt his loyalty?" Thace asked.

"Less his loyalty, and more his…" Allura cast about for the right word. "Agenda."

Shiro, notably, remained silent, expression impassive.

"Princess," Thace said, softly. "I'd like to excuse myself from the upcoming proceedings."

"How do you mean?" Allura started, puzzled by the odd smile Thace wore. "Is there some reason you wish to avoid Hira?"

"Not specifically." Thace's smile faded. "Call it my own instincts at work." He looked about to say more, then pressed his lips together with a shake of his head.

"I understand." Allura stepped aside for Thace to pass. "If you can't return for some reason, at least send word of your safety."

Thace went down on one knee, fist to his chest. "It has been an honor to serve you."

"Lord Thace," Allura said, automatically, but also from a shot of worry. First the warlords turning on Lotor, then Hira's unusual request, and now Thace's departure. "Be well."

Thace's mouth curled up at one end, acknowledging. He gave Shiro a quick nod, and slipped from the room.

"You had something to add?" Allura asked Shiro. "You said little, in the meeting."

"I had little to say," Shiro said, agreeably.

"I disagree. Your silence always says more than you realize. We have no audience, now. Speak freely." If nothing else, it'd distract her from the growing sense of dread as the airship swayed from the effort of hauling up the anchor.

"It's about Taliqal," Shiro said. "I'm not disputing that your forces are down to limited airships, or that the lions are put to best purpose in a joint attack. Unless Daibazaal changes their defensive line…"

"I doubt they will." Allura sighed. "Our informants say Ladnok holds the city, and unlike Hira, Ladnok is both by-the-book and—" Too late, she realized the preface to Shiro's words. "Not disputing—then what are you disputing?"

"Your ground forces have swelled to ten thousand… and almost all are fresh recruits, even those promoted to lead. They have few weapons and even less training, princess." A muscle flickered in Shiro's jaw, and his eyes were hard. "They're going to throw themselves on Taliqal's walls and die by the thousands."

Allura flinched. "I know. And… I hate it. I hate that they'll be fighting their own fellow country-people. I hate having to order them to do so. But we _must_ take Taliqal."

"First, I'm not convinced we must." Shiro shook his head at her protest; he looked conflicted over his words. "Second, I suspect many of them know they're going to die. What bothers me is they can't even choose to do this, as free people."

"I know—" Allura slammed her mouth shut. Shiro deserved better than defensive words.

The airship lurched under their feet, taking a sharp turn. Allura's stomach flipped over; the airship had begun its descent.

"I know where you stand, and I agree, in theory." She held up a hand to stave off Shiro's frown. "What I mean is… I don't know, in practice. I'm left feeling my way and it seems to me, if I had been enslaved, I would be grateful to be freed… and have no interest in defending those who'd once owned me."

The question hung in the air, and Allura waited. Shiro gave no sign he wanted to answer, nor any that he even realized what she'd asked. There was no way he hadn't; he was too smart for that. He was also too used to keeping his emotions locked behind impenetrable walls.

"At the same time, not freeing them first feels like a statement of distrust," Allura said, sounding out her thoughts like she'd learned to do with Thace. "Then I realized, they have no reason to trust me."

"Trust doesn't spring up out of nowhere, princess." Shiro sounded like he agreed, but his tone was too flat. It felt, somehow, like another quiet jab at her own failings.

"When Hira counseled discretion, I agreed because that seemed a reasonable fear." Allura studied her hand, ringless, calloused from years of arms practice. "By the time I realized there was more to it, it was too late to do anything."

"As far as the common people are concerned, you're the only one who can command them to war."

Allura shrugged. If the rumors of Daibazaal's usual tactics were true, the only ones who would've disputed—the nobles who knew and upheld the rules about proper coronation—were all dead, anyway.

"My point is you're asking people to die—on nothing more than a promise."

"I'm asking them to _fight_ ," Allura said, nettled. "I gave them my word, as their queen—"

"Your word?" Shiro's mouth flattened. "I know all too well how easily the Altean crown can forget its promises, Princess."

Allura's ears grew hot. She looked away, frustrated and embarrassed.

"You need to do more than that," Shiro pressed. "You _must_ do more than that."

For a heartbeat, Allura was tempted to remind Shiro of his place. The torq's dull metal glinted at his throat, a sign of one who had no right to tell her anything, let alone dictate her actions. Shiro squared his shoulders. He was fully aware, perhaps even intentionally testing her.

Not for the first time, she railed at his peculiar reluctance to remove the torq. Of all the people at her command, Shiro had experience and aptitude. So long as he wore that torq, though, no title would ever grant him the respect given so easily to a freeborn Altean.

"I do wonder…" Allura knew she was diverting. "If I had refused Hira and freed everyone immediately, would my people have been so quick to accept enemy overlords?"

Shiro was quiet for a moment. "It would depend, I think."

"On?"

"If you also granted them justice. Daibazaal didn't only free the chattel classes. Daibazaal also executed the noble classes."

"Say it plain. They murdered my extended family," Allura spat. "You can't excuse their actions. They attacked us, unprovoked!"

"I'm not arguing that. I'm saying: if you'd been waiting generations to see those who'd ground you under their heel finally brought low, would _you_ quibble over the means?"

Allura choked on her words, indignation crumbling against Shiro's cool tone. She shook her head, baffled. "How is it you can say things no one else can, and yet I can't seem to stay angry at you?"

Shiro merely shrugged, an odd smile curling his lips.

"If you must insist on tearing through all my defenses—" Allura put on an air of pretend grievance. "The _least_ you could do is apologize."

His expression remained bland, though his eyes crinkled. "Would you prefer I lie to you?"

"I wouldn't bother to ask. I know you wouldn't, even if I wanted you to." Allura tilted her head back to study him: the faded scar across the bridge of his nose, eyes the same beaten silver-gray of his Olkarion prosthesis, and that shock of white hair at his brow, stark against the close-trimmed black. "Am I wrong?"

Shiro's half-smile became a true grin. At least he had the decency to look somewhat abashed.

Someone rapped at the door, and Allura called permission to enter. The door opened, just wide enough for Plachu to get his head in. "On the ground. Warship just arrived, sent another signal. That woman's bringing someone to meet you. A priest."

Shiro's brows went up. Allura was more surprised anyone had managed to get the airship's engineer to deliver a message in the first place.

"A priest?" Allura asked. "Could you send Matt to me?"

For a moment, Plachu's eyes narrowed, but Allura smiled. Plachu didn't lose the frown, but his cheeks pinked, and he grunted, shutting the door.

Allura ran fingers through her hair, checking it was still tucked neatly into a high bun. She tugged on her jacket, and smoothed down her close-fitting calfskin leggings. As ready as she'd ever be, except for the presence of a priest. Hira's unpredictable actions had gone from slightly bothersome to truly worrisome.

"Well, let's see what Matt can tell us," Allura muttered, as Shiro fell into step beside her.

 

 

 

"Hey!" Lance leapt up into Blue, glad of the reassuring embrace of the lion's internal belt mechanism. The cave had been too eerie, the depths of rock gradually muffling Blue's commentary."Pidge, Allura! We're at the river. One prince, four adjutants, four nasty-tempered behemoths."

"Took you long enough," Pidge grumbled. "On my way."

"Is everyone alright?" Allura asked.

"The one they call Narti seems to have a head injury, but there's no bleeding," Lance reported. "Lotor's got a gash on his thigh, and the big one—"

"Zethrid," Allura corrected.

"She's in the worst shape." He hoped Allura didn't ask more. In the cave's half-darkness, Lance had thought the woman dressed in black. Under the moon and Blue's eye-glow, all that black had been revealed as wet, oozing blood. "Pidge, they'll be waiting for you at the big rock in the river. Heading your way, now."

"I've got three warships on my tail." Pidge grunted, and Green rumbled, annoyed. "Sure you're up for it?"

Lance thought fast, and opened Blue's chest so Lotor could hear as well. "I'll get in position at the treetops, just the other side of the foothills, east of the river. You see me rise, that's your signal to go invisible, if you can. Dive below the tree line if you can't. My turn to distract the airships while you get everyone out of here."

"I think we've managed the visibility lure," Pidge said, uncertainly. "Hard to tell when it's night, though."

"Then do both." Lance shut Blue, twisted his wrist, and Blue leapt upwards, leaping along the treetops. "Getting into position now."

"Stay safe," Allura cautioned. "I won't lose any of you."

Blue chuffed, annoyed.

"Blue wants to know if we can lose the behemoths," Lance said. "Two of them spat at her. Foul creatures."

"They're not foul," Hunk broke in. "They're just misunderstood."

"Trust me, I understand them just fine," Lance said. "Okay, Blue says you're getting close, Pidge. Give me a countdown."

"We'll be on you in three… two… dive, girl!"

"Here we go," Lance crowed, yelping as Blue burst upwards into the middle of the three airships. They'd practically been on top of Green. Lance curled his fingers, and Blue twisted, dodging cannon fire. "That was too close! Alright, let's tear it up, Blue."

 

 

 

Shiro waited in the airship hanger with Hunk and Matt, while Allura spoke in an undertone with Coran. The older man touched two fingers to his forehead and strode off, face creased in worried lines. Martan joined them last, standing in awkward silence as they waited on Allura.

The airship had touched down at the edge of a clearing along the Nirox river. If Shiro strained, he could catch the faintest hint of salt air, carried inland on a strong breeze. Hira's warship had anchored at the other end of the clearing, too large to come to ground. A rope ladder unfurled from the warship, its rungs outlined in the blue of Altean glow-lights.

"Martan, Hunk," Allura said, joining them. "I want you to spread out, keep your eyes open. Hunk, if you could..." She waved a hand. "Make sure it's safe."

"Got it," Hunk said.

As Martan and Hunk headed down the ramp and split off in different directions, Matt shook himself. "I should be able to hear anything on that warship loud and clear, but it's like my ears are plugged with wool."

"Tell me what you can," Allura said.

"Hira has a guest," Matt said. "He petitioned to meet with you, and Hira agreed to be the go-between. His name's Temris, something like that. And…" He glanced over his shoulder at the open hangar doors, and dropped his voice. "It sounds like Martan arranged the man's introduction."

Allura tapped her chin. "Maybe she said Faran, instead? He's one of her lieutenants."

"No, pretty sure it was Martan." Matt wiped his forehead. "Going to try something." His eyes rolled back slightly, fingers flickering in a rapid pattern.  "Alright, the priest is the sentinel of… damn it, things are still muffled."

"Sentinel of the hidden god," Allura supplied. "It's a very specific position."

Sweat dripped down Matt's temples, glimmering in the torch light. "Recently promoted. His master died. Noq... Noqella, I think?"

"Oh." Allura exhaled, her smile wry. "I don't know why I feel compelled to give condolences," she murmured to Shiro. "The woman was old when my grandmother was a girl. Still, it feels strange to know she's gone."

Old, but immensely powerful, with knowledge far beyond Shiro's grasp. He struggled to remember the student who'd always been at her side. A few years older than Shiro, only met once. The name hadn't ended in a soft sound, but a hard one, unusual for names in Altea. Temrit, Temrik, something like that. Shiro shivered, uneasy.

"Hira's instructing her adjutants that they'll stay on the ship," Matt said, eyes flying open. "Out of the way of any harm. Something about promising their families."

"Do you think it's a trap?" Allura asked.

"I can't tell." Matt rubbed his head. "Juger moved out of my reach... Sorry I couldn't get you more."

"It's not your fault." Allura smiled. "I need you up on the bridge, ready to relay my orders."

"You're expecting trouble, too, then."

"I want to be ready for whatever happens." Allura nodded at Matt's quick bow, halting her step when Shiro raised a hand.

"Princess," he said, not sure where to begin. "If that's Temrik, I doubt he has an argument with you." He took a breath, wishing he'd stayed closer to Black, close enough to feel the lion's strength at his back. "I think... I'm the reason he's here."

Allura's glance was sharp enough to cut. "It's time for you to be honest with me, Shiro."

 

 

 

Lotor was glad to slide off the behemoth, though he had to elbow the creature hard when it tried to bite him. It didn't like the lion, and the lion didn't look interested in carrying the four monsters, either. He stripped the behemoths of their harnesses, dropping the embellished leather into the river. The behemoths were smart enough to scent freedom. Each took off in a different direction, though all avoided the river.

Lotor shouldered the pack he'd managed to grab in the chaos of the attack. Green growled, rising up, and the opening in the lion's chest was soon out of his reach.

"Come on, girl," Pidge squawked from the lion's chest. "We can't—oh, hunh." She leaned out. "Green doesn't like the way you smell."

"Pardon?" Lotor had no idea how to respond to that.

"She says you smell like a priest."

Lotor frowned. Of all the things. "Assure her I mean no harm, please."

"Trust me, anything even distantly priest-like, and she means enough harm for all of us." Pidge made a face. "Have you been hanging with any priests recently?" She banged a fist on Green's hull. "Come on, we don't have all night."

Green growled, eyes glowing, and stiffly lowered herself back down. Still high enough that Lotor had to hoist himself up in a rather undignified fashion. He scooted past Pidge and into the lion's belly.

"On our way, now that Green's not—" Pidge's voice cut off as the doors slid shut.

The floor shifted beneath their feet, much like an airship would, but smoother, flexing in a way no airship had ever managed. The room went dark, and Axca muttered a curse. A small travelling bubble appeared on her finger, then popped with an startling crack. Zethrid shouted, but Lotor shushed them.

"Look…" Lotor pointed.

Green-gold lines spread through the large space, outlining the metal fretwork that formed the cavern within Green's chest. No single origin of the light; it was as if the lion herself were the source.

"It's like being inside a traveller's light," Ezor said. "So pretty."

A self-satisfied purr filled Lotor's head, loud enough to rattle his brains. He gasped, one hand to his head, confused that he was the only one reacting.

"Do you hear that?" Lotor asked.

"I don't even hear the wind whistling," Ezor said. "Are you sure we're in—"

The lion swooped, and Lotor's stomach hit his throat as the lion rapidly dropped in elevation, turning as it did so. No airship had ever moved like that, certainly.

"I don't feel so good," Zethrid moaned. "Can we get the thing to fly a bit more sedately?"

The purring became a growl that trailed off into a chirrup, and then silence. The lion banked right, then left, before straightening out again. An odd sense of tugging at Lotor's chest, and he guessed the lion had put on a burst of speed.

Zethrid's moan cut off with a thump. She'd passed out. Axca crawled to Zethrid's side, and Lotor's laughter died in his throat.

"She's still losing blood." Axca checked the small packs at her hip. "I don't have anything… we need bandages, and water. Narti?" Axca signaled.

Narti crawled over, tugging at Zethrid's jacket as Ezor held Zethrid up. Axca didn't wait, tearing Zethrid's sleeve from the shoulder and sliding it off. 

Lotor emptied his pack beside Axca. "There might be something in here." Three books, an ink bottle, a velvet bag with the remaining regalia, a linen undershirt that about Ezor's size, and a single sock.

Narti reached over Zethrid, snagging the undershirt.

"Wait, that's mine," Ezor said. "Why do you have my shirt?"

 _Bandage_ , Narti signed. Or perhaps it was _firepit_. It was hard to tell in the half-light.

"We need water," Axca reminded him. 

"I'll see if that Vakarian can help." He strode to the door, rapping for Pidge's attention. "We need water. One of my lieutenants is injured badly."

The hatch slid open, and Pidge twisted around. She was caught in a spider's web of metal ribbons and wires. "Just water?"

"And… something to put it in." Lotor spread his hands. "We didn't have time to grab much, I'm afraid."

"Hunh." Pidge stared down at her wrists, as the metal retracted. Not into the lion, but into a band around her wrist. Green light flashed, sparkling-bright, and she held out a silver jug, large enough for plenty of water. "We can get down to the river, and but without that part of the controls, it could be a bumpy ride."

"Just tell me what I need to do." Lotor accepted the jug. 

"Get on your stomach. We'll open the belly hatch. You're going to have to lean out and grab what you can. But for the love of all you hold dear, do _not_ let go of that jug."

 

 

 

Allura checked the meadow. Her own men were in position. One soldier had descended from Hira's commandeered warship, now holding the ladder for the next. 

Shiro took a deep breath. "My first memory of Altea is waking up in a small room with two beds, and a boy in the other bed. Martan."

So that's how they knew each other. Yet Martan had been her playmate, and she'd never seen a collar on him. She couldn't recall asking; her childhood had been an unquestioning one, where friends professed their affection and she never saw reason to doubt. Not until Lotor taught her to see the political currents where she'd floated so comfortably.

"That evening or the next, I met your father for the first time. Noqella was with him. Alfor told us if we—" Shiro shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We both agreed—"

"It's alright, Shiro." Allura kept her chin up and her voice low. "I didn't know Martan was part of it, but I'd had my suspicions of what my father did, and Black confirmed it."

Shiro flinched visibly, gaze going unfocused in the manner of a paladin speaking with his lion. If Black responded in any way, Allura couldn't sense it. 

"I know what Black is," Allura said, trying to soothe. "I know Black considers you family, in some manner. But Shiro... what my father did to you was wrong. No child should ever be forced to protect an entire nation—" 

"We weren't." Shiro's stare went right through her. "We're not bound to the crown. We're bound to your family line. To your parents, to you, and someday, your children."

Allura's mouth fell open. The family had loyal guards who'd protected them for generations. There was no need for what her father had done. "Oh," she said, realizing. "That's why you weren't freed when my father died. That would've been forgiving your oath."

Shiro nodded.

"But my mother—that wasn't a natural death, yet you survived." Allura buried the pang of guilt at her words. She didn't have the time to find a more diplomatic phrase.

"You lived. Until you have children, you're the last of your line. If anything happens to you…" Shiro spread his hands.

"I see." Allura frowned. If Shiro clung to the torq because it held his oath, why wasn't the same true of Martan? "What did Martan swear on?"

"A ring, I think. He wears it on a chain around his neck." Shiro relented at her flat stare. "I swore on... a bit of flat silver. Nothing of value." Except to him, his tone made clear.

Allura swallowed her frustration. "May I see?"

 Shiro reached into his tunic and withdrew a slender chain, a few links kinked from awkward mending. At the end hung something small, almost black, not much bigger than Allura's fingerprint. 

"It looks quite old." Perhaps if she treated it as ordinary, Shiro would relax off his guard. She set aside her impatience, as much as she wanted to shake him. If the torq wasn't binding his oath, what did it bind?

"It was my mother's." Shiro ran a thumb over the metal, smooth from years of such touches. "I thought I'd lost it, but your father found it, and returned it to me."

For a price too high. Allura raised her hand, glad when Shiro acquiesced. The metal was worn thin, warm from being against Shiro's skin. Allura ran a finger over the worn engraving, catching the slight indentations. Up, down, around, up again… she knew that symbol.

"I'm glad you have that much of your family." She dropped her hand, smiling to cover her shock. "And now, Martan is somehow involved in this priest's arrival. Am I wrong to hope this means at least his actions won't put me in danger?"

"I can't say for certain, but I've known Martan half my life. And…" Shiro's mouth turned down, the only sign of his anger. "I think Martan's already forsworn. When Hira used those rings—Black was willing to kill Hira, to defend me. But I knew Hira's death would lead..." He shrugged. "There were no positive outcomes."

Allura nodded. "And you think Martan would've chosen differently?"

"If he believes your survival depends on giving up your crown, forcing you to stay on the throne might count as breaking that oath."

She could see Martan arguing his protection overrode her wish to lead her people. Abdication might save her life, but it'd doom her people. They'd fight and die for Daibazaal's promises of freedom, and end up ground under a new heel. Or the Altean nobility would call again on its allies, throw out Daibazaal, and all those people would be forced back into the chains they'd only just thrown away. Her life was not so precious it was worth the sacrifices of so many others.

"I know the choices I've made could mean my death, in the end," Allura whispered, "I can't go back now, Shiro. We need to be Altea again, but this time, we need be a free and equal Altea. I can't walk away until I've made sure that'll happen."

"Your father underestimated you, princess." Shiro's smile was wry, but genuine. "So did I."

Allura smiled, saddened and flattered at the same time. "I grew up believing my father to be a great man. Everything he did was for my mother and myself. I never realized he did so without regard for anyone else."

Outside, the soldiers had all descended, positioning torches around the ladder base. They held the ladder steady, and a stocky shape slowly made its way down, pausing frequently. 

"What my father did was wrong," Allura said. "Your oath was taken, not given. I honor any loyalty you would give me, but not if it was not given freely."

Shiro studied the meadow, blue-gray in the first rays of early dawn. "And if I chose to never swear to you?"

"I've come to realize there's more than one kind of chattel-bond. I would rather you choose freely against me, than choose for me against your will." Allura shook her head. "What he did was wrong, and unforgivably cruel. I'm sorry." She added, bitterly, "You've suffered so much, all thanks to a stupid superstition." She headed for the ramp, keeping her voice low. The priest had reached the ground, and now Hira scaled downwards with the speed of one used to such descents. 

Shiro fell in beside her. "Princess, your father wasn't—"  

"Don't. What my father did was indefensible." Allura grimaced, as her thoughts tumbled over and clicked into place. "I suppose this means Temrik's here for one last attempt at convincing me to remove you as a paladin. We're fighting a war, and I have to waste time dealing with more superstitious fools."

" _Allura_." Shiro's fingers brushed her elbow. Not quite catching her, but enough to give her pause. "No matter what Temrik tells you, remember this: I know we've had our differences, but I've never held any ill-will towards you. I respect your goals for Altea, but..." He stepped back, averting his gaze. "I need you to respect my choice, too. I have good reason."

Allura forced herself to ignore that Hira and the priest had begun to walk forward, towards the center of the meadow. His meaning clicked, and she stared at him, astonished. "You expect me to just _accept_ —" 

"I do," Shiro replied, just as forcefully. "I don't want anyone hurt, Allura! You have no idea how dangerous—"

"You can't seriously believe—" Allura halted, Black's words coming back to her. "Oh, gods, that's it, you _do_." The sudden shock reverberated through her. "Shiro, you were a _child_. My father—the temple—you were manipulated—how could they make a child—"

"No!" Shiro's tone was sharp. "Your father  _was_ cruel. But in this one thing, Alfor wasn't lying, and he wasn't wrong."

Baffled and upset, Allura spun on her heel, marching towards the center of the meadow. Shiro followed, and Allura did her best not to stomp and make her frustration plain, Perhaps Temrik could explain why the temple had supported her father in filling a child with such fearful lies. And beyond that, she _especially_ wanted an explanation for how Shiro had come to possess the long-lost pendant of the Altean royal regalia.


	25. Chapter 25

Hunk leaned against the airship's stern, glad to have Martan down at the other end. Radala and Platt stood on the ramp, bright metal glinting at their hips. They were armed with short knives. Hunk shook his head. From the looks of her grip, the most Radala had ever done with a knife was carve up a puklo haunch.

The meadow was a shallow bowl in the forest, with the west end no more than a single line of trees. Scraggled and curved, those few trees held, shielding the meadow from the winds that scoured the cliffs above the mighty Nirox.

Yellow growled in Hunk's mind, worried and suspicious.

 _Relax_ , Hunk told the lion. _Be ready, but there's no reason you_ —

Yellow's insistent rumble drowned out Hunk's thoughts.

"Fine," Hunk muttered under his breath. "Getting pushed around by a big mechanical cat."

A barrage of images peppered Hunk like a dozen tiny pebbles. Yellow's memories, and the message seemed to amount to a reminder: not really a cat.

 _If you could remember your name, that's what I'd call you_ , Hunk retorted. He went down on one knee, and placed his palm against the ground, listening closely.

Stubborn and recalcitrant, the granite bedrock wasn't far beneath the turf. Veins of chattering mica and somnolent feldspar interlocked, pockets of coarser crystals stoppering the pattern. Hunk patiently pried apart the strands, startled to find even the reticent feldspar grinding uneasily in its pockets.

 _Something's wrong_ , Hunk told Yellow. _Can you get anything out of them?_

Yellow's chuffing was amusement and annoyance. Stuck in the airship, Yellow had no contact.

 _Fine, fine._ Hunk kept his eyes on Allura's slender form, Shiro's wider bulk shadowing her, as the two halted in the middle of the field. The mica twirled beneath his palm, complaining noisily, and with the feldspar's slower responses, a picture formed of why the ground was so agitated.

 _Yellow, we've got_ — Hunk tensed to stand up.

Nothing happened.

He couldn't move. His hand remained on the ground as if pinned down, his muscles locked in place. His head remained at the same angle, gaze fixed on the space where Allura stood. His jaw was shut tight, his lips pressed together.

 _Yellow_ , Hunk called. _I need help._

When no answer came, Hunk threw himself mentally at the lion. Yellow's presence remained, but it, too, was unmoving. Whatever linked them had become a conduit for Yellow to become mired as well.

 _Yellow!_ Hunk shouted. _Tell Red, tell Black, warn someone! Anyone!_

Yellow didn't answer. Hunk grit his teeth. He couldn't move, but he wasn't entirely helpless. He could still push his questions into the rocks. He needed to find the source.

 

 

 

Allura stopped at the meadow's center, shoulders squared, chin up. She'd seen her mother shift in a heartbeat from the posture of a tired woman to a queen, and had always admired how even close family friends would take a step back. A silent expression of regal authority, one Allura doubted she'd mastered with anything like her mother's skill.

The priest hesitated for only a heartbeat, then unslung a bundle from his back. Next to Hira's usual polish, the priest looked almost destitute. His robes were travel-worn, the black faded to dull gray, and mudstained at the hem. His cuffs were simple embroidery, the threads sun-bleached to a tired umbre. He untied the bag's drawstring, and withdrew three small folding seats.

"This explanation might take a bit, and I thought you'd prefer to be comfortable," the man said.

Three seats? Allura kept her expression flat. Shiro had suffered enough injuries. She wouldn't condone yet another insult on top of that.

"I prefer to stand," Allura said.

It'd be a breach of protocol to sit while the queen stood, at least in peacetime. She'd learned to disregard such niceties. Wartime afforded few peacetime dignities. Judging from the priest's expression, it was a lesson he'd been spared.

"I have yet to hear why you requested this meeting," she added, coolly. "Or who you are."

The priest looked willing to argue, then he sighed and set the folding seats aside. "I'm Temrik, designated heir of Naqella, sentinel of the hidden god. My master died two moons ago."

"I'm aware." Allura knew the reason for Temrik's uneasy frown. But Shiro's words still churned in Allura's gut, and she simply couldn't find the will to utter the usual niceties or condolences.

Temrik cleared his throat, the angular marks on his cheeks darkening in embarrassment. His ears were hidden by a thick cap. If they'd been exposed, Allura wouldn't have been surprised to see them flat against Temrik's scalp.

"I've been trying to catch up with you since you first called the lions." Temrik looked a few years older than Shiro, but his unlined face and long fingers spoke of someone who hadn't experienced a tenth that Shiro had. Or even Allura herself, in the past moons. Temrik dared a slight smile, and a dimple flashed in one cheek. "You're a hard woman to keep up with."

Hira frowned, clearly no more pleased by Temrik's familiarity than Allura was.

"I'm a woman leading a war effort," Allura reminded him. "I don't have time for a casual chat. Get to the point."

Temrik's expression hardened. "Highness," he said, politely. "I came for several reasons. The first of which is that your acts have led to great unrest in the temple."

"I'm freeing Altea from Galra occupation." Allura fought to keep the scowl off her face. "I'd call that worthy, not worrying."

"No, of course not," Temrik said, hands fluttering. "I meant that you called the lions."

"It was my right, and my duty."

"Well, yes. Technically."

A chill went down Allura's spine. "What do you mean, technically? It's always been the right of the Queen or Queen-apparent."

"Working in conjunction with the temple, yes." Temrik's smile was a mix of frustration and sympathy. "You called upon our five gods. _Directly_." When Allura said nothing, Temrik added, slowly. "The female head of the royal household presents her request to the temple, who provides callers-elect for the queen to approve—"

"Since when?" Allura scoffed. "I've read my great-grandmother's journal, and my great-great-great—"

"As have I," Temrik interrupted, smoothly. "Neither ever stated explicitly that they were the sole participants. They were merely observers—"

"Watch yourself." Years of training were the only reason she hadn't punched him. That, and Shiro's steady bulk at her shoulder, exuding calm despite Temrik's words.

"I misspoke, highness." Temrik cleared his throat. "I meant only that they supervised. The actual calls are meant to be performed by priests, trained in the proper procedures."

"Clearly that's not as solid a requirement as you believe, seeing the lions are here."

"My colleagues wouldn't like me saying this, but what you've done is truly impressive." Temrik's smile faltered. "I mean… it takes years of study to handle summoning a single guardian, yet somehow you managed all five, with no training, on the _first_ try. You may easily be the strongest queen we've had in generations. My point, highess, is that had you contracted the temple with your request, the lions might be here, but _this_ is not where we'd be."

"I don't follow." Allura glanced at Hira, who showed no surprise. Whatever Temrik was dancing around, Hira must already know.

"Your ministers lodged a complaint with the temple almost immediately, when the guardians chose their…" For the first time, Temrik's gaze flicked towards Shiro. " _Paladins_. You could hardly have missed the uproar caused by those choices."

"I'm aware the five were unconventional. I felt the same, at first. But they've proven themselves, ten times over."

"They're not unconventional, highness," Temrik said, with a flash of impatience. "They're… quite simply, _wrong_."

 

 

 

Keith woke to the sound of Red yowling. A panicked cry, muffled by an odd distance. Images came through, too blurry and scattered to make any sense of them.

Coran appeared in Keith's vision, hands pushing Keith back down. "You need to rest."

"No," Keith ground out, knocking Coran's hands away. "I need to be up. I need Red."

"Red is fine, and also resting." Coran pressed Keith back down, gently but firmly. "It takes too much out of you when the princess sends the lion's spirit such a distance. You need to give yourself and Red this time to recover."

Keith grunted, startled that he couldn't seem to throw off Coran so easily. The old man was hardier than he looked, or Keith was truly that exhausted.

"Rest, paladin," Coran coaxed. "Everything is fine."

Red howled brokenly in Keith's mind, a cry of one abandoned. It didn't matter what Coran thought or knew. Red needed Keith, and that overrode everything.

"Help me to Red," Keith said. "Let me see he's okay, then I'll rest."

Coran frowned, considering it. "I'm sure he's fine. But I imagine it—he—would be glad of the company. Alright, I'll allow it."

Keith sat up of his own power, though he needed help standing. He was willing to count it as a sign of his maturity that he could swallow the impulse to add that Coran's opinion meant nothing. Keith was heading to Red, and nothing was going to stop him.

 

 

 

Allura had no idea of any phrase to express her disbelief, that would also be suitable for a Queen. She stared, instead, slack-jawed.

"Red's paladin is _not_ Altean, and Green chose a _Vakarian_ ," Temrik said. "And Black chose—"

"I'm aware," Allura cut in. "I see no reason to dispute the lions' choices—"

"That's not how this works!" Temrik looked ready to tear off his hat and stomp on it. "Highness, the guardians are truly wondrous joining of mystical and mechanical forces, but ultimately they are _beasts_. They may carry the grace of the five, but in their own right? A guardian has no more wisdom than a pet dog."

Shiro stiffened, edging closer. Allura considered putting out a hand, and decided against it. If Shiro chose to punch Temrik, she wouldn't stop him. She was angry enough to help, even.

"I beg you, listen." Temrik took a step back, eying Shiro carefully. "No one holds you at fault. You did the best you could, given what you knew, and you did far better than anyone would've predicted. Nothing changes that you violated the edicts of the five gods. Now the head-priests must make amends, if Altea is to be saved."

"We're busy saving Altea _already_ , if you hadn't noticed," Allura said.

"I don't disagree, highness." Temrik's shoulders eased, as if they were somehow in agreement. "I've met with the other head priests, and we've selected—"

"Don't you dare say you've chosen new paladins," Allura spat. "You, of all people, must realize the risks. To the guardians, their paladins, and to me, your _Queen!_ "

"There are no risks," Temrik said, so flatly Allura was caught speechless. "The transfer is complete. You're no longer in danger, which means we're free to correct—"

" _Correct_?" Allura couldn't take it anymore. "Hira, you're the _last_ person I expected to tolerate this nonsense. We have more important tasks at hand!"

Hira's only response was a bored sigh. "Get to the point, Tem. You're not helping your case."

Allura's heart sank. The nickname meant a familial connection. No wonder Temrik had sought out Hira over more suitable avenues, like the last two ministers, currently travelling in General Salla's retinue. But that also meant Hira would grant Temrik greater credibility. Oath or not, family was family.

"I was hoping she'd come around." Temrik made a face. "Very well." He raised a languid hand.

Shiro uttered a sharp cry and fell, landing on his knees, fingers splayed against the ground. Allura stared down in shock. Shiro looked as if a great force pushed down on his shoulders. His head was bowed, arms bulging with the effort of holding himself up.

'What did you do?" Allura rounded on Temrik. "Release my Black Paladin! I command you!"

"No, you don't," Temrik said, a bit sadly. "You see, Allura, it wasn't a compliment to say you're the strongest queen in generations. It was a warning. You're too dangerous, too uncontrolled, and your rash acts have already had dire consequences. As the true guardians of this land, the five gods cannot allow your mistakes to stand—"

"My _what?_ " Allura's cry sounded strangled in her ears.

"Literally, I might add." Temrik gestured at Shiro, who grunted with the effort of raising his head to glare at the priest. Temrik flicked his fingers, and Shiro's arms gave way. "My master had plans to return to the city, once this one was returned to Altea. She fell ill, and I had to go in her place. I regret I wasn't able to reach Oriande in time. To warn you, to guide you. If nothing else, at least about this creature."

Allura ignored him and dropped to her knees, trying to pull Shiro upright. He curled in the meadow's summer grasses, face between his clenched fists. His breathing was shallow, scalp drenched in sweat from the effort. She tugged at his shoulders, but his muscles were unyielding steel. His half-swallowed cries, under his breath, made clear he was resisting with everything he had.

She glared up at Temrik. "He's not a creature. Neither is Black, or any of the guardians. I've spoken to each, I _know_ them. You're messing with things you don't understand. Release Shiro, this instant!"

"I can't do that," Temrik said. "No, seriously, I can't. Once the temple-keepers arrive, they'll bind him safely for travelling—"

"Bind him? Like you haven't done enough of that, already? He's proven his worth, over and over! What greater proof do you need than—"

"That's what I'm trying to explain," Temrik said, in that same patient tone. "You're thinking these five were made legitimate by being chosen, but it's the other way around. Choosing the correct paladin is what legitimizes the guardian."

 

 

 

Keith pushed himself free of Coran, stumbling forward to press hands against Red's snout. The lion keened in Keith's mind. Red's claws extended, scoring the airship's wooden platform.

"Talk to me, Red," Keith said, instinctively running a hand across the lion's bone armor. "What's happening?"

 _Alone_ , Red moaned, with a rush of scattered images. Abandoned, forgotten, unwanted.

"Green and Blue are gone, that's all." Keith flung out an arm, taking in Black and Yellow with a single gesture. "Black and Yellow are here—"

"I don't think so," Coran whispered. "I've never seen them this still."

Black lay with its chin on its paws, somnolent. Usually at least its eyes would open, even if only a slit, giving careful regard for anything going on in the hangar.

Keith leaned over the platform edge. Beneath Red's platform, Yellow showed the same strange passivity. It felt like an absence. Keith came upright, too shocked and upset to care that his entire body ached with the movement. "What's going on?"

Red moaned softer, his claws stilling. The lion's eyes remained open, but the light dimmed. Frantic, Keith stumbled back to the lion, pressing his hands on the armor, willing the lion to stay awake. Red's eyes flared, and the lion whimpered in Keith's mind.

"Hang in there, kitty," Keith murmured, stroking a hand along Red's bone armor in what he hoped was a soothing touch. He rounded on the older man, though he kept a hand on Red. "This isn't good. Gotta get the lions away from here—"

"Oh, no," Coran gasped, his Altean marks blazing bright for a moment. "Oh, no."

"What?" Keith reached for Coran, but the man stood too far away. Keith couldn't bring himself to let go of Red, not with Red mentally clinging to him like an abandoned child.

Coran exhaled. "It's a trap."

 

 

 

"What?" Allura's jaw dropped. "But the supplicants, the jarta, the presentation—"

"That's to seal the contract." Temrik shook his head. "Those beasts have _never_ been allowed to choose. That has always been the temple's role. Wild beasts have no reason. Of _course_ they'd choose wildly, without regard for tradition or talent—"

Allura raised a fist. "Shiro has more talent in his left _thumb_ than ten of—"

"Allura," Shiro rasped, and the desperate note stopped her cold.

She bent over him. "Fight it. I'll get you free—"

"Please—" Shiro's head was pulled back down by some invisible force. "Better this way."

"No, it's not, it could never be. Shiro, please!" Allura put a hand on his shoulder. His body shivered with tension. She gripped harder, willing him to feel her reassurance.

"I wanted more," Shiro gasped. "I always knew—inevitable—but..." The tension slipped out of his muscles, and his head sank down. "I'd hoped—not so soon..."

"No," Allura cried, shaking him. "I won't let them lock you up, not like this. Shiro? Shiro!" She bent over, furious and wishing she still had some last remnants in her of the guardians' powers. She inhaled, willing to try anyway, when Shiro's faint whisper caught her attention.

"Tell Keith," Shiro whispered. "Sorry."

"Tell him yourself," Allura urged. "I know you're—hey!" Strong hands landed on Allura's arms, hauling her unceremoniously to her feet. "Unhand me—"

"Allura di Alfor," Temrik intoned, and hearing her name styled as low nobility knocked the breath from Allura's lungs. Temrik didn't seem to notice, busy unfurling a scroll. "I am hereby authorized to strip you of your crown, in the name of the council of the five."

Allura twisted in the soldiers' hold, but their grip remained fast. She growled, furious to find her skills failing her, for the first time in years. A glance at Hira's impassive expression, and Allura halted, doubts pummeling her. Had Allura thought herself strong, because Hira had let her believe that? Had she been trapped in lies, as much as Shiro?

Temrik continued, not even looking up. "In light of the paladins' service so far, the council has decreed the Blue, Red, Green, and Yellow paladins—known colloquially as the thief, the spy, the traitor, and the outcast—will be spared. The temple-keepers will instead replace them with suitable selections, and each will be sent to their respective traditional lands, to deal with as they see fit."

A death-sentence for Pidge and Hunk, at minimum. If Keith was treated as Galra rather than Marmora, a death sentence for him, as well. She had to hope Hunk had been warned by the scene in the meadow, soon enough to get away. Pidge and Lance were on their way back, and if Allura could warn them in time... She concentrated, bringing Green to mind. She'd spoken through Black, once. She should be able to do the same with Green.

A distant touch brushed Allura's mind, like fingers through her hair, and the sensation was gone. Allura panted, open-mouthed.

"She's doing something," Hira said. "The Vakarian may've given her means to bypass your work."

Allura grimaced. She had the earrings, but they might as well have been pebbles for all she could tell. Beyond that single touch from Green, none of the other lions nor their paladins spoke along the connection.

"Vakarians have no power in a temple circle," Temrik said, unbothered.

"What about Shiro," Allura ground out. "What will happen to him?"

Temrik sighed, rolling up the scroll and tucking it back into his tunic. "I argued for execution. It's safest, but I guess you don't care about that."

"I care that you're talking about executing my— _executing_ someone—like it's nothing!"

"Well, it's not _nothing_." Temrik put his foot to Shiro's head, nudging once, then pulling back with a startled laugh. "That's going to take some getting used to. No, you don't have to worry. The creature will be in good hands—"

"Stop calling him that! Shiro is—"

"A relic and an abomination," Temrik said, flatly. "But one the temple has need for, desperately."

 

 

 

Lance grinned as Blue cleared the river's surface, landing neatly on the shore. He coughed a few times to get used to the air, and mentally catalogued their injuries. Blue had taken several hits to her back leg, and wasn't willing to put weight on it fully. Judging from the pain strafing his leg, those last few cannon shot had hit pretty hard.

His left shoulder ached as well, but not quite as bad. That was probably from broadsiding one of the warships when they'd almost gotten cornered in mid-air.

"I think we lost them, Blue," he said, satisfied.

Blue chirruped, pleased, until Lance shook water off himself. His movement prompted the corresponding move from Blue, who huffed at the indignity of shaking herself like a dog.

"Sorry," Lance said, without a shred of remorse. "Hey, Pidge, we're in the clear. Where are you at, now?"

"My guess is about an hour. We're both tired, so we've slowed down." Pidge yawned loud enough over the connection that Lance could hear her jaw crack. "I'm hungry, too."

"No eating your passengers. How're they doing?"

"Lotor reports in, every now and then." Pidge's shrug was audible. "Green says he smells funny, but other than being a bit too Galra for my preferences, he seems on the level. We're coming up—oh, hey, what was _that_?"

"What was what? What's happening?" Lance curled his fingers, tensed, and Blue leapt. She roared, putting on a burst of speed. "Ambush?"

"No, something just touched—hey, girl, calm down, there's nothing—" Pidge grunted with the effort. "I don't know what's going on with her!"

Great, perfect time for Green to lose control, when no other lions were around to stomp on her head. Lance gritted his teeth, leaning into another of Blue's powerful leaps. From Blue's flashes of commentary and his own recollections of the maps, they were perhaps an hour behind Pidge.

"Stop, girl, there's nothing—no, no, stay back there, just some technical difficulties—" Pidge swore in Vakarian. "Just what I need, anxious passengers. Come on, girl, stop that!"

"What's she doing?" Lance asked.

"She doesn't want to head back to the airship. She keeps showing me a picture of some woman. I don't know who, but it means something to Green and she wants nothing to do with it." Pidge snarled. "We have to get Lotor's friends to the airship, Green. They _need_ a medic, and we don't have the skills!"

"Hey, Allura—" Lance waited, baffled by the silence. "Hunk? Keith! Shiro?"

"Maybe they're away from their lions?" Pidge asked.

"Come on, Red! Yellow?" Lance ignored Blue's growl, and focused. "Black! Where's Shiro? I can't feel any of them. Something's wrong."

"I could've told you that."

"No, I mean _really_ wrong." Uneasy, Lance stretched out, trying to tap whatever had let him feel the other lions' presences, even if he couldn't communicate directly.

Nothing happened, except that for a heartbeat, he couldn't feel Blue, either. Terrified by the sudden silence, Lance opened himself up to Blue, a kind of mental embrace. Her presence wrapped around him, pouring into him like oxygen. No images, no words, just a sensation.

Lance opened his eyes, decision made. "Let Green have her head, Pidge."

"Do what? She's trying to head due south! That's the totally wrong direction!"

"Aim for south-east. Olkarion will have medics, and far better than any among Allura's people." Now that Ulaz was gone, at least, and if one put any water in legends, the Olkari bordered on miracle-workers.

"There's nothing in Olkarion, anymore," Pidge said. "Daibazaal tore through there, same time they attacked Oriande."

"The Olkari are pacifists," Lance replied. "That doesn't make them stupid, and they're not easy targets." After seeing Shiro's arm, Lance was inclined to give those legends a great deal more credence. "They retreat to the mountain forests. Green should feel right at home, and if anyone can find where the Olkari have hidden themselves, it'd be Green."

"I guess." Pidge sighed. "What about you and Blue?"

"I have some ideas. Keep in touch, let me know if Green comes down off her panic once you're farther away." Lance grinned at Blue's long-suffering snort, and told the lion, "Yeah, Green's a pest, but if she knows something, we need to know it, too."

"A what?" Pidge snorted. "You don't get to say shit. You can't even keep up with us."

 _Smartass_ , Blue whispered.

Lance laughed. _Which of the two are you talking about?_

From Blue's responding images, she'd meant both paladin and lion.

"I'll let you know when we reach the straits," Pidge said, and the line went quiet.

"Just you and me, now," Lance told Blue. "I know you don't like doing this, but if Green knows what it is and what it means… somewhere in your memories, you must know, too."

Blue rumbled, reluctant.

"I know, but going in blind never turns out well. Come on, beautiful, concentrate. Tell me what you remember."

 

 

 

Hunk was mildly surprised that despite being somehow magically locked into place, his muscles could still cramp from the position. Then again, he wasn't being hauled off the field like Allura, though she was certainly giving the three soldiers enough hell for it.

The tall grasses hid Shiro's body, but he couldn't be dead. Black hadn't reacted at all, and Hunk was pretty certain if there was any lion who'd slaughter armies to get to their paladin's side, it'd be Black. Figures moved in the corners of Hunk's view, but his gaze was still stuck on the spot just to the left of the priest and Hira.

Several figures approached the meadow's centerpoint, enough for Hunk to get a sense of general shapes and colors. All robed, all in black. Either ministers or priests, and given the intricate threads woven through the bedrock, Hunk's money was on priests.

Yellow had long since fallen silent. Not withdrawing, nor absent. Simply… unaware of Hunk, despite Hunk's calls and questions. Like passing as strangers on the street, and it hurt, at a level Hunk hadn't thought possible for any but his own family.

He bent his attention to the excitable mica scattered through the bedrock. Little nudges, tiny suggestions, rearranging the crystals. Each movement dragged the imposed threads a fraction off their course, and each one took endless patience to coax the granite into cooperation.

 

 

 

Allura had sparred three-on-one before. She hadn't always won, but she'd held her own. It was nothing like now, and she cursed the gaps in her education. These soldiers were used to fighting together, and they simply rushed at her. No sooner did she kick one off, the other two got a hold on her again.

They didn't seem inclined to injure her, thankfully. That meant they needed her alive for a little longer. She may've daydreamed through a lot of particularly boring history lessons from her tutors, but she did know the average life expectancy of a deposed ruler: about as long as an icecube in midsummer.

Allura twisted, kicked hard, and snapped her other hand free, and was grabbed from behind. Arms locked against her sides, all she could do was thrash. The wild movement shifted her and her captors, twisting her to see Shiro's still form.

If that was her fate, she could live with that. What she refused to live—or die—with was knowing her death would consign Shiro and Martan to the same fate. They'd been children, forced against their will. Whatever they'd done since was their responsibility, but that oath was not. Allura screamed, somehow breaking the soldier's hold. Unexpectedly free, she stumbled forward.

The soldiers caught her, one holding her arm, the other with a grip around her neck. She landed hard on her knees, bent over, face pressed towards the dirt.

"Princess," Hira said, kneeling before Allura. "Please, listen to me."

"Like you're giving me any choice." Allura tensed, testing the hold on her.

The soldiers didn't hesitate. One twisted her arm viciously behind her back, forcing a cry from her throat. The other tightened his grip around her neck, almost to the point of choking her.

"Enough," Hira said. "Princess, I've known you since you were a tiny babe only a few hours' old. I swore my allegiance to your mother to protect Altea, and I swore to your father to always keep you safe."

"This is your idea of doing both?" Allura bent her head. "Fine. I'll talk."

"Soldiers," Hira said, and stood.

The third soldier must've been waiting, because as soon as Allura could straighten up, ropes were around her waist. The three were quick to bind her arms before her, wrist to elbow. She steadfastly ignored how the rope twisted around her, forcing her arms to her side, with enough length left in front to act as a leash.

Tied up like a common criminal, and that said everything Allura needed to know.

Hira helped Allura up, and moved so Allura could see Shiro's unmoving form. The sight made Allura's vision swim with fury. She fought down the anger, knowing she needed a calmer head, and a better idea of what they faced. A quick look around the meadow made it clear: they were outnumbered.

A half-dozen or so black-robed priests had emerged from the woods. Hira's warship continued to hover above; it hadn't even anchored. The ladder flapped uselessly in the wind. She could just make out Hunk's form, kneeling at one end of Lotor's airship. It felt as though he stared right at her, but he made no move, gave no shout. Whatever had caught Shiro must've caught him, too.

There'd been two of the crew on the airship's ramp; they were now surrounded and held by other soldiers. Three soldiers stood nearby, pointing towards the airship, possibly discussing how best to handle the remaining crew inside. At the airship's bow, Martan stood, alone.

Her heart sank. Shiro had warned her of Martan's possible role, but nothing drove the disappointment home like seeing him standing, unbothered and unaffected. She'd always thought him loyal, steadfast, and reliable. She'd never realized that under his roguish smile, he was actually a fool.

Temrik's voice floated towards her, carried by a breeze. "I don't know what the oath-mark is," he told the two elder priests with him. "My master never told me, and she never wrote in any of her notes that I've found."

"What are they talking about?" Allura asked Hira, though she had a suspicion.

Hira snorted. "Who knows, with priests. As far as I can tell, they're arguing over whether they can terminate an oath without having whatever the oath was sworn on." Hira's hand went to the hilt of her sword, perhaps involuntarily.

"I know what it is," Allura said, raising her voice to be heard the thirty sticks' distance. "He gave it to me, for safe-keeping. It's on the airship."

The short priest scowled at the other, a tall woman with red at her cuffs. The wind blew against her black robes, hinting at an ample figure.

"We'll send someone to fetch it," the woman said. "Where is it, and what does it look like?"

Allura thought fast. She only had a few things with her, when Oriande had fallen. It needed to be something old, but not something of her mother's. She couldn't risk someone recognizing it, and Hira probably would. And it needed to be something that'd suit their assumptions of Shiro as nothing more than chattel…

"There's a small red box in my stateroom." It'd been left among Lotor's things; he'd used it to store ink bottles, but it worked well enough to hold what few ornaments she'd worn the day of Oriande's fall. "At the bottom, there's a small ring. Simple silver, etched with a pattern of juniberry flowers."

The priest waved over one of the soldiers, while Allura fought to keep her expression flat. She'd worn it on a chain around her neck ever since Lotor gave it to her, years ago. Nothing like the heavily decorated jewelry so popular in Altea, and bought in a common marketplace for perhaps a few coppers. A gift from the heart, and she had too few of those to throw away the little she had.

But she was alive, and last she'd heard, so was Lotor. There could be other rings, other gifts, someday. For Shiro, there would be no second chances with his family, and Allura wouldn't be party to destroying the one token he did have.

Nor did she care to have the priests curious about Shiro's possession of regalia. Allura was determined to find out the answers, but she could see no good coming from the temple also asking questions.

 

 

 

Hunk pushed, again, the slightest pressure. The feldspar cracked, divided by the thread's tension. Hunk winced at the granite's rising irritation. But the thread slipped farther, cutting between the grains.

Red's presence slammed into Hunk, a panicked flurry of sensations almost overriding Keith's shouts on the connection. The noise felt deafening after perhaps a half-hour of dull ears. Hunk forced out sounds, wishing Keith would stop calling long enough to listen.

"Keeeeth," Hunk forced out, more breath than sound.

"Hunk! Are you alright? Yellow isn't—"

" _Shuhhh_..." Hunk inhaled as sharply as he could, given his chest's constriction. "Tra…" He couldn't force his lips to close over the final sound. Frustrated, he tried again, dragging out the 'ah' and still not managing to close off the word.

"Trap, I know," Keith said. "Coran says he thinks it might be what the temple would use when a paladin was dying. It puts the lions in a kind of stasis. When they wake, they've got a new paladin."

Made sense. But that also meant Shiro could be dead, and Black none the wiser.

"The airship probably landed right in the middle," Keith continued, strain growing in his voice. "That put Black and Yellow closer to the effects. Red's feeling it. Not as bad, but it's still… It's bad, Hunk." His words faded in and out.

"Stuck," Hunk said, and inhaled again. "Can't… ooove," he added, hoping Keith was quick enough to catch the meaning.

"Fuck," Keith said.

Hunk wasn't normally one for cussing, but it fit the circumstances. They really were well and truly fucked. Black and Yellow out of commission, Red wearing himself out trying to get free, Hunk trapped, Allura dragged away, and Shiro…

Hunk wished he could close his eyes. Anything to avoid the sight of five robed priests standing around Shiro's body, gesturing in sweeping movements that looked like some kind of ritual pattern.

"I need to get Red out of here," Keith said. "But the only way out would trap us, too."

"Go through awls..." Hunk pushed everything he had into forcing his locked muscles to move, and tried again. "Awwwwls." Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision.

"Walls?" Keith grunted, bitter amusement. "Yeah, I guess there's not much choice. Coran said the square in front of the castle could do this. Doesn't make sense, though. Why here? Why now?"

Hunk had an answer for that, at least. So long as he could be comprehensible. He drew breath and gave it a try. "Reraring would take ahout a noon."

"Noon? Moon! But a moon ago, we were in—" Keith cut off with a sharp angry laugh. "That's why the generals said they had to march, not fly. They were stalling us. You think they've been planning this since Pekiar?"

"Yeah, seens like it. Get Hatt," Hunk said. "Warn Hidge and Lance…"

"Coran's already on it." Keith exhaled noisily over the line, and Hunk almost envied him. "Good kitty, we're gonna need to make our own exit. Hunk, I'm coming out."

"One nore thing..." Was it his imagination, or could he move a fraction more than before? "Allura got taken whest, vehind the trees. Ore reests taking Shiro in sa...same direction."

"Got it. We'll get you first, then—"

" _No_ ," Hunk exhaled, as loudly as he could. "Don't touch down. You'll get caught, too. I'n working on undoing the circle, don't worry ahout me."

"Fine," Keith said, unhappily. "Coran said the key is getting out of the circle. We could push the airship, but Red can't do it alone."

"You won't have to," a new voice crowed.

"Lance!" Hunk cheered, only to immediately sober. "Stay back. Don't get caught, too."

"Never. Keith, if you can get Red out, I'm going to lay down some ice." Lance chuckled. "If I can get it under the airship, then a good shove will push it out of the circle."

"Oh." Keith's tone bordered on surprised. "That's… actually a really good idea. Where are you at?"

"Just out of sight, east of you. Let me know when you're in the air."

Hunk grinned, pleased to find he could move a bit more. He bent his attention to coaxing the feldspar into shifting the priests' work out of alignment. With Hira involved, the priests would've been aware of Black's likely response, if Shiro were threatened. They'd had time to lay the groundwork, to make certain the paladins and lions would be fully isolated. Wherever Allura and Shiro had been taken, it had to be equally protected.

Hunk set that aside. He still had work to do.

 

 

 

Shiro groaned as he came to, with a vicious headache demanding his attention. He lay on his side, face half-buried in old hay. He sneezed, immediately cursing the movement that set his head to pounding even worse. His body felt bruised and worn like he'd done three full days in the practice yards.

Gingerly he sat up, puzzled by white cords tied around his wrists, upper arms, ankles, and above his knees. He wasn't tied _to_ anything, though. He was simply… tied. He touched the one around his upper left arm, tentative. Nothing happened, until he touched the knot.

Agony sliced down his arm as if he'd been sliced open. He instinctively recoiled, falling sideways into the scattered hay. His jaw locked to muffle his scream, until his lip stung and warm wet trickled down his jaw. The pain subsided, leaving Shiro gasping for breath, tears leaking from his eyes. It took another moment for him to get his bearings again.

Shiro carefully pushed himself back upright. He touched his lip, grimacing at the red across his fingertips, and swiped his hand across his mouth. Whatever the cords were, better to leave them alone, until he knew more. They didn't seem to be hampering him, either, so long as he stayed put. The next question was: where was he?

A simple shed with a roof of questionable sturdiness, rough-hewn boards for walls. From the angle of the light slipping through the many cracks, it wasn't quite noon. He'd not been out too long, then. At one end, the shed's door was barred from the inside. The other end, the door was closed, and likely barred and guarded from the other side.

With his headache gradually receding, Shiro realized the worst wrongness: he couldn't feel Black, at all. The absence hit Shiro far worse than any knot. Somewhere in there, despite his best attempts, he'd come to rely on Black's presence curling around him. A sleekness of black velvet and cool air, but now all Shiro felt was hay poking him in the backside, a lot of bruises, and a head empty of all but his own thoughts.

So this was it.

His time had always been counted in moons, not ages. With Allura's insistence about freeing him, this end had been inevitable. He would've liked just a little more time, a chance—perhaps not to explain to Keith, but at least to say—

Shiro curled up, arms around his shins like he was twelve again. What could he even have said? Maybe it was better to make a clean break. Better than seeing the horror on anyone's face. For some reason, he'd taken for granted that Black would be there until the end. How naive, to hope he could leave without being left.

The door banged open, two figures silhouetted against fierce sunlight. Shiro shaded his eyes, squinting as the two walked into the shed. Halfway in, no more than a body length from him, the two stopped.

"Only a moment, Martan," Allura said. "Just a moment alone."

"I really shouldn't," Martan said, but his tone held no certainty. "There's no reason for you—"

" _Please._ " She wasn't quite begging, but with her hands before her… To Shiro's horror, she'd been trussed. Allura stood proud, despite that. "I need to make peace."

Martan wavered, glancing to Shiro and then to the open door. "You don't owe that thing any explanations, Allura."

"No, I owe my _friend_ an explanation." Allura drew herself up to her full height. "Alone."

Martan sighed, nodded, and turned on his heel. He closed the door with a last worried look at Allura, then the bar banged down from outside. Allura was locked in as well. Shiro uncurled, wary, and without much hope.

"I'll get right to the point," Allura said, kneeling before Shiro. "I've witnessed my warrant. Once the temple certifies it, I'll have formally abdicated the throne."

Shiro couldn't think of what to say, other than, " _Allura_."

"It's tradition that I'll give my testament." She sounded oddly satisfied. "I may not have been coronated, but I did call the guardians. I earned the right to be counted in our chronicles."

Counted among all the other dead queens of Altea. Shiro's blood ran cold.

"I made them add a clause, though. When the day comes, you'll be freed," Allura said. "Your oath will be forgiven. No one will inherit you. I've made sure of it."

If Allura had granted him permission, those long days ago when they'd first met, his entrance in the temple would've been shepherded by the one priest he'd met and trusted. It would've been trading one cage for another, but the oaths that bound the priesthood would've kept him fast, safe, as hidden as the god he'd serve.

That chance was forever gone, now. Shiro recalled only the vaguest details, but as a child he'd listened from the loft while the adults talked into the night. All he'd gathered was that exposure led to unimaginable horrors. And now the temple knew of him, knew he existed. Death would be preferable to the living hell he faced.

Shiro took a deep breath. First things first. "Do you know what these cords are?"

"They're…" Allura made a face. "Binding knots. Did you touch one? I hear they're—"

"Agonizing, yes. I got that part." Shiro held out his arm. "Do you know how to get them undone?"

"According to Coran, it's easy, as long as it's not you." Allura teased one knot free, then another, until all four were undone. She tossed aside the cords. "I am apostate, now. Undoing a priest's restrictions is supposed to damn your soul. I find I can't seem to care anymore."

Shiro smiled, a bit grim, and yanked off one boot, then the other. He set them aside, and pulled off his tunic, baring his chest to the cool air. Allura's eyes were as large as teacups. Her mouth moved and no sound came out. Shiro's ears were hot, and he kept his gaze averted as he undid his leggings and pushed them off, too.

All that remained on him was his mother's pendant, and the binding torc. Shiro pressed the pendant to his heart for a moment, steeled himself, and drew the pendant over his head.

"I need you to keep this safe, for me." Shiro held it out, cradled in his hands. "It's all I have. If—" He didn't want to consider the alternatives, but he'd learned long ago not to expect a happy ending. "If anything happens, I'd like Keith to have it."

"Of course—but—" Allura took the pendant without even looking. She seemed to be determined to look at a point somewhere above Shiro's shoulder. Her ears were bright red, startling against her white curls. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready." Shiro came up on his knees, put his hands before him, and leaned into her. Not quite with his head resting on her lap, but close enough. "It's time. Remove the collar."

"What?" Allura couldn't quite reach, so Shiro bent forward until her fingers touched his shoulders. "I thought you said only priests could do this."

"Anyone can, really. It's just going to—" Shiro bit back the words, afraid she'd change her mind. Or that he'd lose his nerve. "It's easier for a priest, but…"

The shed shook, abruptly. Dust and dirt fell from the ceiling, glittering in the few shafts of sunlight. Shiro held his breath, hoping, but no lion roared. No one was coming to save them—if anyone else could. The meeting, the timing, the place—solid tactics to divide the enemy. Perhaps it wasn't entirely happenstance that Pidge and Lance had also been conveniently needed elsewhere. It was equally possible that a different ambush had awaited those two. For that matter, without a connection to Black, there was no way to know if any of the other paladins still lived.

Allura's fingers brushed his neck, sliding along the edge of the collar. "But what? What aren't you telling me?"

"I once swore to protect your family," Shiro whispered. "I had no choice. Now, I do. It doesn't matter if you release me. I won't stand by as you're executed. Not just to save my life, but because…" He sighed, uncertain and unused to speaking so openly.

"Shiro, I made sure. You'll be fine, no matter what happens to me."

"No, I won't." Shiro bent his head further. "Not when the one I've chosen to serve is being laid out in the royal tombs."

Allura inhaled sharply. "I don't want your oath, Shiro. I'm tired of my death being held over your head."

"I'm not—" Shiro broke off at the sound of voices.

Several men, arguing, outside the shed. Someone must've found Martan, or asked where Allura had gone. Martan's voice rose, insisting, and was overridden. They were out of time.

"Remember what I said," Shiro urged Allura. "I would never intentionally hurt you. I want you to survive, and make Altea… a place worth calling home. Let me do this, so I can make that happen."

"Shiro?" Allura felt along the collar, gripping the warm metal. Her fingers were slender enough to just fit between the metal and his flesh. "You survive, too. Promise me."

"Do it." Shiro glanced at the door. Wood scraped. Someone was unbarring the door. "Hurry."

"Promise me," Allura said, and broke the torq.

The world halted. Each shaft of sunlight held its breath, swathes through the shed's shadows, dust motes frozen within. Six people stood in the doorway, caught mid-reaction: shock, anger, fear. The sunlight spread, bleeding into everything, chased by an intense pain that drove every rational thought from Shiro's head except the need to flee. The world turned to gold.

Shiro stretched his wings and leapt.


End file.
